Tactical Espionage Action: Metal Gear Solid
by Steven Hildreth Jr
Summary: I'M BACK! An elite military unit takes over an obscure Alaskan nuclear disposal facility. They have threatened to launch a nuclear missile if the US government does not hand over the body of Big Boss. The only man who can successfully infiltrate the facility and thwart the terrorists' plans is the legendary Solid Snake. Based off the bestselling PSX game. CH. 16 UP! Pleas
1. Briefing

TACTICAL ESPIONAGE ACTION: METAL GEAR SOLID  
  
BY STEVEN HILDRETH, JR.  
  
DISCLAIMER: Metal Gear Solid, Solid Snake, FOX-HOUND, and any and all characters and units are property of Konami Entertainment Japan, Inc. Metal Gear Solid created by Hideo Kojima.  
  
  
  
The log cabin was alone, solitary, the only thing in the middle of the fierce snowstorm. Icicles formed on the roof, and the door was getting close to halfway block with snow. The temperature was roughly -5 F§, mild for an Alaskan snowstorm. But that wasn't on the mind of the man who lived there.  
  
The man who dwelled inside the place didn't have a family, aside from the fifty huskies he owned and mushed. As a matter of fact, the man probably couldn't have a family, since he couldn't trust anyone. Days of battle long past did that to him permanently.  
  
The man, whose name was David Sears, leaned back in his chair, relaxing, taking a long drag on his Winston cigarette and then a pull on his Budwiser brew. At thirty five years of age, he was in great shape, and looked about three years younger. He was about 6'0" and 185 pounds, had fair, slightly tanned Caucasian skin, Arctic cold green eyes, and a mane of blond hair. Sears hadn't shaved in a week, so the beard he'd been trying to grow was now starting to come back.   
  
David was muscular. Even though he smoke and drank, he exercised frequently, mostly dog mushing. He planned to attend the Iditarod, the longest dog sled race in the world, later on that week. Sears wasn't worried about people discovering his other identity. The one he'd been trying to hide for over four years, now. Mushing and caring for his dogs were some of the things he could do to take his mind off the trauma.  
  
Sears turned on the radio, listening to news from America. The announcer was discussing football scores, which didn't interest him any, since he wasn't a big sports fan. After some turning of the knob, he found a heavy metal station. Turn that shit off, he thought to himself. He couldn't stand heavy metal. For some reason, it reminded him of a combat zone. Finally, he found a rap station. One of the few music genres he liked, aside from real rock, not the heavy metal or punk wannabe shit, was rap. Turning the volume down slightly, he went back to his meal.  
  
As he took another drag of the Winston, the hairs on his neck began to stand up slightly. David's free hand reached for a Walther PPK 7.65mm pistol kept underneath his table just in case something happened. A few more seconds past, and nothing happened. The left hand wandered back and replaced itself on the table. Then, his neck hairs stood up on end completely. Sears tried to reach for his gun but was too slow. The windows shattered and long, cylinder-like grenades were thrown threw, releasing a yellow gas. As it reached his eyes and throat, he began to cough insanely, and rub at his eyes frantically, knowing what was going on.  
  
Shit! David thought angrily. CS gas...what the hell is going on?! Suddenly, he sensed someone behind him, and instinct took over. He turned around and slammed his right fist out, connecting with something hard. Sears heard a grunt, and thought he punched an enemy. As he wandered around his cabin, looking for a way out, another guard tried to ambush him. David, however, was too quick, and slammed his left fist out, knocking the opposition out cold.  
  
The smoke began to clear, and Sears, still trying to clear his eyes of the tear gas, thought he saw a light. Quickly, he began to sprint to the door, almost making it, when two soldiers, dressed in black tactical gear and carrying M4 5.56mm carbines, the standard weapon of US Special Forces, tripped him and restrained him by his arms. David struggled, but they pinned his legs to the ground.  
  
"Tough bastard," one soldier said to the other. Sears couldn't see what the soldier looked like since the soldier wore a balaclava. "He's as good as they say. Bring the KO gas."  
  
He was held down for twenty seconds more before a small canister was held to his nose, forced into his respiratory system, finding its way into his lungs, and before he knew it, David Sears was embraced by the warmth and comfort of unconsciousness. This is bad, he thought as he quieted down and ceased to resist.  
  
This wasn't even the beginning of it.  
  
* * *  
  
The room was small, about twenty feet by five feet, slightly warm, but metallic. Sears woke up, lying down on a cold, metal bench. David's first reaction was to reach for his PPK, but when he felt for it, he got skin. Quickly self-examining himself, David found out that he was in the nude, and stripped of all weapons. His first reaction was to slam his massive fists against the metal door keeping him in, but after three minutes of it, he stopped and sat back down.   
  
Sears drooped his head, letting his mane cover his grim face. Staring at the floor, he thought about what could be happening. He had been recalled once...could it be happening again? Whatever the situation, FOX-HOUND could handle it. Why the hell was he needed? It was true he was good, but he wasn't good enough to send a Special Ops team to attack him. Whatever the situation, he was sure he'd find out soon.  
  
As if on cue, the door swung open, and the guard watching the door stood at attention. A large man, about 6'3" from a guesstimate, returned the salute. As the man stepped through the door, David looked up. Immediately, he recognized him.   
  
He wore the US Army's standard green uniform which sported the teal arrowhead containing a golden sword and three golden lighting bolts, which was the signal of a Special Forces soldier. Above the patch, his uniform flaunted a teal flash with gold "Special Forces" lettering. Below that was a black and gold "Ranger" tab, and finally, below that, a black and gold "Airborne" tab. The rank on his shoulders and on his hat displayed the bird and arrow rank of a colonel. Topping his head was a Green Beret, the sign of a Special Forces soldier.  
  
The man had tanned skin, and brown eyes that told the careful observer that he had seen combat. His face was craggy, showing wear and beating over the years. Above his right breast jacket was a nameplate that read "Campbell." Several ribbons showed various medals and commendations, including the Silver Star, Bronze Star, Legion of Merit, Distinguished Service Cross, and Purple Heart, among other awards. It showed he was a hardened veteran.  
  
Right behind Colonel Campbell, a petite woman followed. Snake couldn't get a clear look at her face, but from the slight peek he received, she looked attractive. Her hair was shoulder length, black, and flowing free. The woman's skin was the perfect shade of peach, showing that she was at least a large part Caucasian. Even through her wardrobe, her impressive physique showed, the clothing emphasizing her medium sized, but firm and rounded, breasts, and her perfect hips, not too large but proportionate. The woman's slender, smooth legs were exposed from underneath her short brown skirt, leading to a pair of brown casual slippers. The woman's body was attractive, even sexy...but David wasn't worried about it. He especially didn't want to show his interest in her in his current situation, in more ways than one.  
  
Colonel Campbell stood in front of Sears as the woman crept into a corner. "It's been a long time, Snake," Roy Campbell, former FOX-HOUND commander, said. His voice was gruff, deep, and commanding. Years of battle and command did that to you.  
  
My old code name, David Sears, retired US Army Special Ops soldier, CIA agent, FOX-HOUND trooper, and mercenary, thought. He called me Snake. "I should have known you were behind this, Colonel," Snake growled, his face neutral, but eyes glaring into his. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. His voice cut through the woman like a hot knife through butter, making her shudder slightly. The colonel, however, stood unmoved. He'd heard the voice before. It wasn't new.  
  
"That's no way to greet an old war buddy, Snake," Colonel Campbell said, faking a hurt voice, and putting on a pitiful sad dog face. It just made Snake angrier, and Campbell stopped it. Solid Snake wasn't a man to anger.  
  
"What do you want from me?" Snake demanded, cutting straight to the chase. This was a waste of time.  
  
"I just invited you here so we could have a talk," Campbell said casually, as if he was about to order cookies and tea, and talk things over, pinkies up.  
  
"Invited?!" Snake snarled, wanting to cross the room and throttle the old officer, stopped by the sight of the armed guard. "That's what you call sending armed soldiers after me?!"  
  
Campbell smiled to himself. He's getting too old, he thought. A mere team of Delta Force commandos took the legendary Solid Snake down with a little elbow grease and CS gas. "Sorry if they were a little rough with you," he stated, not really meaning it. "But we've got a serious situation here. Only you can get us out of it."  
  
"I'm retired from FOX-HOUND," Snake said softly, steadily getting louder, pointing his right index finger at the colonel. "You're not commander anymore, and I don't have to take orders from you, or anyone else!"  
  
"You will take these orders," Campbell said quietly but firmly. "I know it."  
  
The woman finally took a few steps out of the corner toward the naked blond, being hesitant about it. "Excuse me," she quietly said, as if she didn't want to be there any longer than necessary. Her voice was angelic, sprinkled with an accent, probably English, and good to hear. Snake hadn't heard a female's voice in over two years now.   
  
Snake didn't visually acknowledge her, instead keeping his ice cold eyes on Campbell. "Who's this?" he asked, addressing the colonel.  
  
"Dr. Naomi Hunter," Campbell replied. "She's chief of FOX-HOUND's medical staff, and an expert in gene therapy." Gene therapy probably meant she worked with the Human Genome Project. So, she was a doctor, and a good one, since only the finest served with FOX-HOUND.  
  
Snake turned to face her, noticing her face for the first time. She had lukewarm green eyes, a smooth, unscarred face, with slightly rosy cheeks, and full lips that didn't go overboard. Dr. Naomi Hunter was beautiful. "Are you military?" Snake asked.  
  
"No, civilian," she replied, smiling, releasing some tension. "I've been sent here from ATGC." ATGC, Inc., was a genetic company, leading the Human Genome project, standing for Adenine, Thiamine, Guanine, and Cytosine, the four basic elements of the DNA strand. "Pleasure to meet you, Snake." Hunter then produced a syringe from her white doctor jacket. The liquid inside was slightly clear, a sort of transparent blue. Snake's automatic reaction was to knock it from her hands, but he controlled himself.   
  
"Don't worry," she said, gently handling his muscular arm. "This injection won't hurt a bit." Naomi smiled a little.  
  
"What's the shot for?" Snake asked, suspicious. He didn't trust the government.  
  
"What's wrong?" Dr. Hunter teased tenderly. She didn't want to scare him shitless, just make him suck it up and drive on. "You don't like shots?"  
  
As a matter of fact, Snake hated him. FOX-HOUND and the CIA had taught him various ways to kill a man, and many of them involved syringes. Luckily, he was also taught to identify various colors of various poisons, and one that was transparent blue wasn't one of them. That calmed him slightly. For the moment.  
  
"Snake, listen up," Campbell's voice boomed, bringing Snake out of his reverie. "It all went down five hours ago." A computer screen emerged from a point on the floor two feet from Snake's foot, and Campbell pressed a few buttons, bring up a map of Alaska. "Heavily armed soldiers occupied Shadow Moses Island, a remote island off the coast of Alaska." The colonel's aged finger moved around the touch-pad and zoomed in on a small island in an area labeled "Fox Archipelago."  
  
"What soldiers?" Snake asked, getting less interested by the second. They called me up for a routine mission? Snake thought, getting angrier by the second.  
  
"Next Generation Special Forces," Colonel Campbell stated, "led by members of Unit FOX-HOUND."  
  
Snake's interest was automatically captured. His former unit, FOX-HOUND, was supposed to be the cream of the crop of special operations, specializing in single man infiltration missions, counterrevolutionary and counterterrorist missions, reconnaissance, and direct action missions. They were stealth warriors, but were also tenacious fighters if backed into a corner. The small unit going rogue was not a good thing.   
  
"They've presented Washington with a single demand," the colonel continued, "and they say if it isn't met, they'll launch a nuclear weapon."  
  
Snake raised his eyebrow. The mission was getting more and more hair-brained by the second. "A nuclear weapon?" he questioned incredulously.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Campbell acknowledged. "You see, the island is the site of a secret nuclear weapons disposal facility."  
  
"FOX-HOUND hijacking a nuclear weapon?!" the grunt growled, not believing a single word of it.  
  
"Now you understand how serious the situation is," the Army colonel stated. "You'll have two mission objectives. First, you're to rescue the DARPA chief, Donald Anderson, and the president of ArmsTech, Kenneth Baker. They're both being held as hostages."  
  
"Those are some heavy duty hostages," Snake conceded. DARPA, or the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, tested newer futuristic weapons for the US military. All of the advanced weaponry that went to the Department of Defense had to go through DARPA. It usually tested in secrecy, and its name usually didn't come out in the public.  
  
ArmsTech, however, was the exact opposite. It was well known in the arms community, building up stock during the Cold War. It developed the SDI system, which worked by using high power magnets to propel bullets at high velocities. Lately, it was losing ground, since it lost its bid to produce the United States Air Force's next line of fighter jet.   
  
"Secondly," Campbell continued, "you're to investigate whether or not the terrorists have the ability to launch a nuclear strike, and stop them if they do." The colonel stopped pacing the room and turned to face Snake. "Any questions, Snake?"  
  
"Questions?" the grunt scoffed. "I haven't even said whether I'd accept this mission."  
  
"Well," Campbell said, "you can make up your mind after you hear more about the situation."  
  
I don't want to hear more, Snake thought, I want to go home. This ends now. "Colonel, I don't work for the government anymore," he stated. "Let me go back to Twin Lakes."  
  
"Why, Snake?" the colonel taunted. "Is your life in Alaska all that great?"  
  
"There's a dog sled race this week," Snake announced, with some pride. "Next Saturday, I have to be in Anchorage."  
  
"The Iditarod?" Campbell sneered. "The longest sled race in the world? When did you become a dog musher?" The race covered most of Alaska, and lasted several weeks. It was dangerous, but adventurous, just the thing the man known as David Sears wanted.  
  
"Right now, my fifty huskies are my only family," Snake said, without remorse or embarrassment. "I've got to take care of them." It was true, too. His father was dead, his mother unknown, siblings non-existent. The dogs were the closest thing to a family to him.  
  
Colonel Campbell stopped and leered at Snake, staring him in the eye. "Don't worry about your dogs," he said in a graveyard voice, trying to hit Snake in a weak spot.  
  
Anger rose in Snake's eyes, and his hands balled into fists. "What do you mean?"   
  
the grunt rumbled.  
  
"I'm sorry, Snake," Campbell announced, "but this vessel is headed for the Bering Sea. There's no room for debate."  
  
"I told you, even if I do own you, I don't owe anything to this army or this country!" Snake yelled, standing up now. Naomi Hunter went back to her corner, seeing the two grown men yelling at each other, on the verge of blows. She didn't want to be caught in the cross-fire.  
  
"You will accept this assignment!" Colonel Campbell ordered loudly.  
  
"Why should I be stupid enough to do that?" Snake demanded. "I'm no patriot."  
  
The colonel paused, seeing that his former soldier had a point. He decided to take another approach. "Snake..." he said casually, lowering his voice, "there's enough dirt in your file from your days as an agent to keep you in the stockade until you're a very old man."  
  
"Oh...I see," Snake said, scrunching his face up in anger and disgust. "Blackmail." He said the last word, spitting it out like an overcooked piece of cabbage.  
  
"No...Snake," Campbell said, a slight smile spreading across his face. "I prefer to look it as helping you come to a decision more easily." The old man stopped, then looked his friend in the eye again. "But, anyway, I know you better than that. You'd take this assignment even without the threat."  
  
"Why do you say that?" Snake asked, interested to hear the answer.  
  
"You're a natural born soldier," Roy Campbell stated. "You're not the grow old gracefully' type. It's the same for all of us who've seen real action. The only place we can feel truly alive is on the battlefield." The colonel increased the step of his pace and started to sweat now. "I'm a soldier too. I know those feelings of powerlessness...frustration that you feel everyday. You've tried to play the Boy Scout out there in Alaska, but you can't race dogs in the snow forever!"  
  
The colonel stopped, lowered his voice, and shallowed his breathing. He was overreacting. Campbell didn't need that. "Why don't you come back to us...and be a soldier again?"  
  
Snake turned his head away from Dr. Hunter and Colonel Campbell. It was all true. The only reason he wanted to race in the Iditarod was the risk that he could be killed. Dodging death was part of his essential needs in life...dealing it was the other half. Snake had tried to live as David Sears, but it didn't work out. His dates were ruined since he wasn't a great talker, and often talked too violent. His "go to hell" attitude warded off any friends. The battlefield was where he belonged. Snake's body shook.  
  
"You think my life is some kind of a joke?" Snake barely managed to say, his voice quivering, arm muscles tensed, fist balled, and knuckles turning white.   
  
"Snake..." Campbell said gently, like one friend would talk to another in need, "I just want to give you back your purpose in life."   
  
David Sears looked up at Roy Campbell. His body showed the officer that he didn't want to go. But Sears's eyes didn't. It was at that moment that David Sears was destroyed. Solid Snake, legendary FOX-HOUND operative, was now alive again, and ready to do what he did best: killing.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
After a few minutes of silence, Snake had calmed down and looked the colonel in the eye. He decided to give the mission a chance and listen to the briefing, then make his final decision. Snake's mind raced, looking for the first question to ask. He decided he'd need to know more about the place he was supposed to sneak in.  
  
"Tell me about the nuclear weapons disposal facility," Snake requested.  
  
"The disposal facility," the Army colonel started, "includes a hardened underground base. Even with our most advanced intelligence gathering equipment, we can't tell what's happening inside."  
  
Snake mulled this over. "So some needs to penetrate, gather intelligence, and report back..." he murmured. He smirked. "Sounds like a spy movie. What's the insertion method?"  
  
"Well," the former FOX-HOUND commander sighed, "an air insertion is impossible."  
  
"Not with this storm going on," Snake conceded.  
  
"We'll approach the disposal facility by sub," Campbell declared.  
  
"Approach?" Snake asked. He'd heard of several Special Operations insertion method, but approaching a base by sub wasn't one of them.  
  
"Yes. Within a few miles of it," the colonel explained, seeing the confused look on the grunt's face. "You see, the facility is equipped with sonar detection capabilities. They'd be able to hear our engine or propeller noise."  
  
Snake nodded in understanding. "And then?"  
  
"We'll launch a one man SDV," Campbell continued, referring to a Swimmer Delivery Vehicle. Usually, the Navy SEALs used them and they housed three to six covert operators. The one man model was made shortly before Solid Snake retired for the final time from FOX-HOUND. But he was confused about the launch part.  
  
"Same like a torpedo," the Army colonel explained again. "Except this has no propulsion device of its own. After the SDV gets as close as it can, dispose of it. From there on, you'll have to swim."  
  
Snake had heard of hair-brained ideas of SpecWar, but this was the craziest one by far. "You want me to swim in sub-zero Alaskan water?" Snake asked, giving Campbell a look as if to ask him did he think that he was a complete idiot.   
  
"Don't worry," the former FOX-HOUND commander assured his grunt. His left hand gestured to a suit hanging up in the corner. "That suit represents the latest in polythermal technology."  
  
The suit was blue-gray. It looked as if it was made out of a Neoprene type substance, with same color boots and gloves. Next to the suit were gray elbow and knee pads, and the chest was muscle molded, showing all the pectoral and abdominal muscles. If they assured him that it was polythermal, then he was pretty sure it was going to hold his heat in. Neoprene would help in the ice cold Alaskan water.  
  
"The nuclear weapons disposal facility covers the whole island," Colonel Campbell said, bringing Snake's attention back to him. "I'll instruct you by Codec after you reach your target."  
  
So, they're using the Codec, huh, Snake thought. The covert communications system, code named Codec, utilized nanomachines injected into the subjects body and a wrist screen. A transmitter was attached to a spot behind the operator's right ear, and that sent a signal throughout the bloodstream to the nanomachines, sending out a secure transmission using the wrist screen. It also worked as a miniature camera, recording him and sending him a picture of who he was talking to. It worked when the command wanted to see the actual situation.  
  
"Anyone going with me?" Snake asked, already knowing the answer, due to FOX-HOUND standard policy.  
  
"As usual," the colonel replied, confirming Snake's suspicions, "this is a one man infiltration mission."  
  
"Weapons and equipment OSP?" Solid Snake asked, referring to on site procurement. Translated into civilian language, that mean that he would be sent in, virtually naked, and expected to glean weapons and equipment off of enemy soldiers.  
  
"Yes," Campbell responded. "This is a top secret black op. Don't expect any official support."  
  
Snake's mind was still processing the information, and decided to keep the link going. "What's the time limit?" he inquired.  
  
"Twenty-four hours," Campbell said in a graveyard voice. "They say they'll launch after twenty-four hours."  
  
"Did they say what the target will be?" Snake asked.  
  
"So far, they haven't mentioned the target," the colonel responded.  
  
"When did the countdown start?" the FOX-HOUND veteran asked.  
  
"Five hours ago."   
  
"Do you have my cigarettes?"   
  
The retired colonel turned to a guard and signaled. Twenty seconds later, a Navy seaman came in with his Winstons and a lighter. He removed a tube of tobacco from the famous red and white box, lit up, and took a long drag.  
  
"Enjoy it while it lasts," the doctor, Naomi, said, despising the tobacco in his hand. "I'll confiscate it after the briefing."  
  
Snake raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly, taking another long drag and blowing the smoke her direction. After the small banter, which Colonel Campbell seemed to watch in semi-amusement, Snake turned back and asked, "Colonel, who are you speaking for?"  
  
"Naturally, I'm representing the US government," Campbell reacted.   
  
"So, who's in supervisory control of this operation?"  
  
"The President of the United States."  
  
"Which means that the President must be meeting with his top aides in the map room about now, huh?" Snake took another long drag on the Winston. He hadn't had a smoke since four hours previous to being abducted.  
  
"No," the colonel disagreed. "At this point, they're still video conferencing with each other."  
  
"If that's a real nuclear warhead," he said, pointing to the map of Shadow Moses, "shouldn't they issue a COG?" A COG was a nuclear weapons alert, the system developed during the Cold War. The procedure consisted of evacuation of the target city, or cities, and the relocation of all the top politicians to a hardened underground shelter underneath Mount Washington in Virginia.  
  
"Not yet," the colonel answered. "The Secretary of Defense has operational control, and is fully aware of the situation. After you infiltrate, if you determine they possess nuclear launch capabilities, a COG will be issued."  
  
"Well," Snake said, taking another pull, "if they haven't relocated to the nuclear shelter under Mount Washington, I suppose there isn't that much reason to worry yet. Is the National Security Agency in on this?" The grunt stubbed his butt and removed a new one from the package. After lighting up, he looked back to the colonel.  
  
"Yes, and so is the DIA, or the Defense Intelligence Agency."  
  
"The DIA?" Snake asked, mostly to himself. "I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this..."  
  
"They'll be sending us some support," Campbell announced.  
  
"We don't need desk jockeys," Snake growled. He hated most paper pushers with a passion. They just made missions clusterfucks by taking too long to process paperwork giving them more to do. "We need a nuclear weapons specialist."  
  
"Of course," Campbell assured Snake, calming him down. "A nuclear weapons specialist has already been assigned to us."  
  
Snake pulled hard on the cigarette, then repeated, "We need backup from a specialist. I'm just an amateur when it comes to nuclear weapons."  
  
"I know," Campbell agreed. "That's why I've requested the assistance of a military analyst named Nastasha Romanenko. She'll be providing you backup by Codec."  
  
The screen switched from the map of Alaska to a picture of a woman with blond hair, cut into a small bowl cut, with cutting brown eyes and a fancy cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth. She's got style, Snake thought, sucking on his own Winston. Her history stated that she lost friend and family in the Chernobyl nuclear accident, then came to the US and joined the DIA, and NEST, or the Nuclear Emergency Search Team. Shortly afterward, she went freelance.  
  
"A female analyst?" Snake asked, raising his eyebrows. Most military analysts were men, since most women either didn't want or couldn't stand military contact, and studying weapons, and their effects, often bloody.  
  
"She's built up an impressive record as an adviser for the Nuclear Emergency Search Team," Colonel Campbell declared. "Contact her if you have any questions. She's also an expert on high-tech weapons."  
  
"Where is she working from?" Snake questioned.  
  
"At her home in Los Angeles," Roy answered.  
  
"California..." Snake replied, thinking of the sunny beaches, beautiful ocean, and scantily clad women sunbathing. It was a thought that he enjoyed thoroughly. "Seems like a million miles away..." Snake's voice trailed off. Then, his mind snapped in gear. Why would a retired colonel be in command of a mission?  
  
"Colonel, you're retired," Snake growled softly. "Why are you involved in this?"  
  
"Because there aren't many people who know FOX-HOUND as well as I do," Campbell announced. It was a legitimate reason, but it wasn't good enough for Snake. He needed deeper answers.  
  
"Is that really the only reason?" Snake demanded.  
  
"I've been soldering for a long time," Campbell explained. "I don't know anything else. I guess even though I'm getting a little old, I still love to be in the field."  
  
Snake saw through the lie like Superman saw through walls. It was a crystal clear lie. "Colonel," Snake scowled, "you're a lousy liar. Tell me the real reason." Snake's cold eyes pierced the old man's, forcing him to deflate.  
  
"Okay, Snake..." he sighed, admitting defeat. "Sorry. I'll be frank." He took a seat next to Snake and stared at the ground. "A person very dear to me is being held hostage."  
  
"Who is it?" Snake questioned, being a little softer with his tone.  
  
"My niece...Meryl," Colonel breathed sorrowfully.  
  
This is starting to look like a really bad, low budget movie, Snake thought to himself, not daring to voice his opinions aloud in front of his former commander. "What was your niece doing here?" he inquired.  
  
"Several soldiers were reported missing the day of the revolt," Campbell replied, "and my niece was one of those called in as an emergency replacement."  
  
The old man pulled a fresh, leather wallet from his Army uniform and pulled out a collection of pictures. One showed a young woman, with rosy red hair, resplendent emerald green eyes, a small, slender nose, and slim, but somewhat full, lips, turned into a slight smile. She wore the Marine dress blue uniform with standard hat. Another picture showed Roy at the beach, wearing a blue T-shirt and black swimming trunks, and the woman, who he assumed to be Meryl, since she was too young to be his wife, wearing a red, skimpy two piece bikini swimming suit. Her form was slender, but muscular, displaying a six pack of abs. She was buff, but attractive.  
  
"She looks like you," Snake offered. Only in the fact she has your nose and possibly your lips, Snake pondered to himself. Other than that, she's a lot better looking than you, colonel.   
  
"She's my little brother's girl," Campbell said, tenderly taking the pictures from Snake and putting them back into the wallet and replacing the wallet in his pocket. "He died in the Gulf War, and since then, I've been watching after her."  
  
"A personal motive, colonel?" Snake said, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. This guy was the definition of military, and he was letting personal feeling get in the way? "That's not very soldierly."  
  
"I'm retired," Colonel Campbell reminded Snake. "I'm just an old man now. And I'm your friend."  
  
Snake gave him a look like that when a nerd is talking to a popular high school varsity football player, both kids are strangers to each other, and the nerd says that they're friends. "Since when have we been friends?" Snake demanded.  
  
"I've thought of us as friends since the fall of Zanzibar," the colonel insisted.   
  
Snake calmed down slightly with the old man. "With my personality," Snake expressed, "I don't have too many friends."  
  
"That's what I like about you, Snake," Campbell said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's what makes you human." Roy looked directly into Snake's cold, green eyes, pleading with him. "Please, Snake! Save my niece Meryl!"  
  
Solid Snake thought this over. It was the basic concept of warfare. You didn't fight for abstract ideas like the flag, your country, liberty, or the freedom of your people. You fought for your buddies. You helped each other go from battle to battle, so you could live and get out of the hell called war. That's why Campbell wanted him to fight: to help someone dear to him get out alive and to get out of war. Snake made his final decision.  
  
"All right," Snake said hesitantly, "but I have two conditions."  
  
"Name them," Campbell said instantly, standing up in front of Snake.  
  
"One: no more secrets between us," Snake ordered. "I want complete disclosure at all times. And two: I'll only take orders directly from you, colonel. No cutoffs involved, okay?"  
  
Roy Campbell thought it over slightly, then looked at the grunt. "Agreed," he conceded. "That's why I was called. But one thing..."  
  
"What?" Snake asked.   
  
"I'm not a colonel anymore," Campbell stressed. "Just a retired old warhorse."  
  
"I understand," Snake said, the corners of his mouth starting to tug toward his ears. "Colonel." The smile finally emerged, and the colonel chuckled. Snake beckoned for Campbell to come close and both of their smiles disappeared. As soon as he got close enough, Snake murmured, "That doctor...is she part of this operation, too?"  
  
"She was in charge of FOX-HOUND's gene therapy," Campbell confided to his oldest living friend. "She know more about those men than anyone else."  
  
Naomi Hunter was listening intently, a natural smile spreading across her face, the type certain women have. Snake noticed her eyes on him and turned to face her and bring her into the conversation. "You mean...you've seen them naked?" he grinned slyly, seeing how she would react to the sexual innuendo.  
  
Her face fell, and a curt appearance surrounded her. "Make no mistake," she said coldly. "I'm not a nurse. I'm a scientist." She said the last part with a hint of pride.  
  
Snake nodded and asked, "By the way, what was that injection for?"  
  
"It's a combination of nanomachines and an anti-freezing peptide so that your blood and other bodily fluids don't freeze even at sub-Arctic temperatures," Hunter explained.   
  
Impressive, Snake thought. Even though he was a grunt, he was a smart one, with an IQ of 180. Even though he was a skirt chaser throughout school, he still managed to pass, some of it his mental capacity, and the other part his connections with brainy kids who could help him with the answers. He had taken classes on medicine and drugs, in the case he would need to use it in the field. The peptide would help greatly. But nanomachines were vague, and he stated as much.  
  
"Not just one kind, either," Hunter said, slightly smiling at him. "There are different types that will replenish the supply of adrenaline, nutrition, and sugar in your bloodstream."  
  
The grunt mumbled his approval. "Now I don't have to worry about food."  
  
"I also put some nootropics in there," Naomi stated.  
  
Snake looked at her as if she recited something like the latest slang term or the name of a cartoon nation. "Say what?" he said.  
  
"Nootropics," she repeated. "A class of drugs which will help improve your mental functioning."  
  
Snake smiled slightly, assuming that Naomi didn't know about his intelligence quotient. "It'll make me smarter, huh? Anything else?"  
  
"Yes," she pressed forward. "Benzedrine. It's a type of stimulant. It will keep you alert and responsive for twelve straight hours."  
  
Snake knew that was valuable. Special Operations were working long hours, and even the Iron Men of SpecOps needed their rest. The benzedrine in the injection would help greatly to keep the legend from falling asleep and meeting an unlegendary death. "That was quite a cocktail," the FOX-HOUND veteran stated. "Anything else in there?"  
  
Snake wasn't expecting an answer, and to his surprise, he got a final answer: "Those nanomachines will also keep your Codec's battery charged up."  
  
Solid Snake sighed and said laconically, "I guess I can call you when I'm ready to go on a diet."  
  
Naomi smiled sweetly and her eyes flashed wickedly as she clandestinely looked the warrior up and down. "You're welcome," she said like a little schoolgirl talking to her favorite boy.  
  
Snake pulled another cigarette from his Winston box and lit it up. Putting it to his mouth, the healthy red orange flame intensified slightly as he dragged, then dimmed as he blew the smoke out of his mouth. "The chief of DARPA and the president of an arms manufacturing company...what business did they have at a nuclear weapons disposal facility?" Snake asked point blank.  
  
"The truth is," the colonel said reluctantly, "that secret exercises were being conducted at the time the terrorist group attacked."  
  
"Must be extremely important exercises if those two were directly involved," the FOX-HOUND veteran acknowledged. "Were they testing some kind of new advanced weapon?"  
  
"I'm not privy to that information," the colonel said immediately.  
  
Snake narrowed his eyes, detecting the scent of a lie, then put it aside. He needed to gain the colonel's trust. That meant he needed to trust Campbell. "Do we know exactly where they're being held?" he asked next. That was the first step of counterterror operations such as this one: locate the hostages and determine how heavily guarded they are. The second part was no mystery; FOX-HOUND wasn't stupid. The hostages would be guarded with the utmost protection.  
  
Naomi Hunter stepped forward. "The DARPA chief has also been injected with a mini-transmitter," she explained. "As you get closer, you should be able to pick up his location on your radar."  
  
Solid Snake nodded in understandment, and took another drag. "Do they really have the ability to launch a nuclear missile?"   
  
"They say they do," Campbell answered. "They even gave us the serial number of the warhead they plan to use."  
  
"Was the number confirmed?" Snake insisted, hoping it could all end and he could go home to his dogs.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Colonel Campbell sighed. "At the very least, they've got their hands on a real nuclear warhead."  
  
"Isn't there some type of safety device to prevent this type of terrorism?" Snake urged. Nations weren't stupid; when making weapons of mass destruction, they planned for catastrophes and made safeguards just in case.  
  
"Yes," Campbell replied. "Every missile and warhead in our arsenal is equipped with a PAL, which uses a discreet detonation code."  
  
"PAL?" Snake was perplexed with all these nuclear acronyms.  
  
"Permissive Action Link," the former FOX-HOUND commander explained. "The safety control system built into all nuclear weapon systems. But even so, we can't rest easy."  
  
Snake was now becoming confused. There was a fail-safe. What the hell was the matter now? "Why not?"  
  
"Because the DARPA chief knows the detonation code," Campbell stressed.  
  
"But even if they have a nuclear warhead," Snake reasoned, "it must have been removed from its missile. All the nuclear warheads in the facility are supposed to be dismantled. It's not that easy to get your hands on an ICBM." ICBM meant intercontinental ballistic missile, the basic nuclear missile.  
  
"That used to be true," Campbell conceded. "But since the end of the Cold War, you can get anything if you have enough money and the right connections."  
  
Snake knew this to be true. During the 1980s, the Western nations were hoping that a coup would throw the current communist government out of power. The CIA's involvement in Moscow increased in this time period, and then, the West got what it wanted. In the early 1990s, Boris Yeltsin lead a successful coup d'etat in Moscow.   
  
With the hostile takeover, the Russians aimed to appease the West, and laid off hundreds upon thousands of nuclear scientists, assassins, and spies. They also sold a lot of nuclear weapons. With these items for sale, even the poorest Third World country could afford to finance a nuclear weapons program. That was the birth of nuclear terrorism, along with the augmention of biological and chemical terrorism, which brought another question to his mind.  
  
"How well armed are these terrorists?" Snake questioned. "I know there was an exercise going on at the time of the revolt."  
  
"They're heavily armed, I'm afraid," Campbell replied, pressing a few buttons on the computer, bringing up FOX-HOUND's armament for the exercise. It consisted of a French FAMAS F2 5.56mm assault rifle, bullpup style, with tritium sights. A few were claimed to have M203 40mm grenade launchers. The standard sidearm was the Heckler and Koch MK-23 SOCOM .45cal pistol, with the optional attachments of a Laser Aiming Module, or LAM, and a seven inch sound suppressor. A few FIM-92A Stinger missile launchers were brought along, and a variety of grenades and mines. Finally, a secret experimental weapon was described as a remote controlled missile, but not showing a picture. The FOX-HOUND veteran had a feeling he'd find out soon.  
  
"What about their battle experience?" Snake pressed.  
  
"The six members of FOX-HOUND in charge are all hardened veterans," Campbell answered. "They're tough enough to eat nails and ask for seconds."  
  
A sly grin spread across Snake's face. "I wouldn't expect anything less from FOX-HOUND."  
  
No one should've expected less. They were more elite than 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, or Delta Force. The unit were infamous sheep dippers, or soldiers who were stripped of military identity and sent in as subversives. They had assassinated more than one head of state.  
  
"The others are Next-Generation Special Forces," the colonel announced, bringing Snake from his reverie. "They're not your average grunts either."  
  
Snake was about to ask about this NGSF unit, and decided against it. There was one major question he hadn't asked yet. It was probably the most important question in counterterrorist operations such as this one.  
  
"So, what exactly are they demanding?"   
  
Colonel Campbell sighed uneasily, shifting in his uniform, and looked his grunt in the eyes. "A person's remains."  
  
"Remains?!" They had started a whole terrorist attack and were about to incur the wrath of the United States Defense Department over somebody's corpse? How insane was that? To Snake, it sounded like a cheesy Hollywood movie.  
  
"That's right," Campbell confirmed. "To be more accurate, cell specimens which contain the individual's genomic information."  
  
"Cell specimens?" It still sounded insane. "Why would they want that?"  
  
"The terrorists need them," the colonel explained. "You see, these Next Generation Special Forces have been strengthened through gene therapy."  
  
"Strengthened?"  
  
"You've heard of the Human Genome Project. They've been mapping the human genome, and they're nearly finished."  
  
The Human Genome Project, started in the 1990s, set out to find the sections of DNA, the genetic strand of amino acid, that set genetic characteristics. It had taken over a decade to make progress, but now, they had a major breakthrough. It was all going to be a downhill roll from there.   
  
"Following up on this research, the military has been working toward identifying those genes which are responsible for making effective soldiers," Campbell continued.  
  
"There are genes that do that?" Snake asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes," the colonel replied, "and using gene therapy, they're able to transplant those genes into regular soldiers."  
  
"Gene therapy?" Now Snake was really befuddled.  
  
Naomi Hunter stood from the corner, taking a tentative step toward Snake. "I'll explain this part," she offered to Campbell. He nodded, and took a step back. "With gene therapy, we can remove those genes which we know may lead to sickness or disease, and at the same time, splice in genes with beneficial effects, such as resistance to cancer, for example."  
  
"In other words," the old colonel summarized, "we can overcome all sorts of genetic diseases, and at the same time add genetic characteristics as desired."  
  
"Okay," Snake said, finally understanding the jargon. "And so if you knew which genes were responsible for making the perfect soldier, you could implant them in the same way, right?"  
  
Naomi paused, giving off a suspicious vibe. "Yes..." she said hesitatingly. "We could."  
  
"But it all depends on being able to isolate and identify those soldier genes," Campbell added, taking Snake's attention away from Naomi.  
  
"And in order to do that," she said, with a pang of pride, "it's helpful if you can study the genomic information of one of the greatest soldiers ever."  
  
The ex-FOX-HOUND operative looked at her as if she said something bitter. "One of the greatest soldiers ever?"  
  
Naomi continued, unfazed by his tone and look. "The man they call the greatest warrior of the 20th century."  
  
That broke through Snake's poker face, more sense breaking through, but not enough to make him think he was still legally sane. "You don't mean Big Boss?!" Snake half gasped.  
  
"That's right," Naomi answered. "We've been working feverishly to identify the genes responsible for his incredible combat skill. So far, we've discovered about sixty of the so-called soldier genes.'"  
  
"So his body was recovered after all..." Snake said, his voice trailing off.  
  
"Yes," Campbell's voice broke through, "and his cells have remained frozen in a cryo-chamber. His genomic information is a priceless treasure to mankind."  
  
Solid Snake shot a look at Colonel Roy Campbell, one of despise, not for him, but for his comment. "Priceless to the military, perhaps," he spat maliciously.  
  
"His body was burned severely," Dr. Hunter said, bringing Snake's attention back to her. "But, it was possible to restore his DNA profile with just a single strand of his hair."  
  
"You people are amazing," Snake said cynically. "And you're gonna transplant those genes into soldiers?"  
  
"Yes," Hunter responded, the pride back again. "We'll use a process I discovered called gene targeting. The strongest soldiers don't become what they are by acquiring their skill through   
  
training or experience. We now know that hereditary factors are far more crucial for creating superior soldiers."  
  
"Snake," the colonel's experienced voice growled, "we can't give them his body. Its potentially more dangerous than all the nuclear warheads on that island put together."  
  
"I hear the terrorists are calling themselves The Sons of Big Boss,'" Naomi said softly.  
  
"The Sons of Big Boss...?" Snake said, mostly to himself. Now that he knew the basics, he could do his follow up work. These NGSF were starting to interest him. So, that was the next subject he brought up.  
  
"Tell me about these Next-Generation Special Forces," Snake said.  
  
"They started out as an anti-terrorist special ops unit," Colonel Campbell explained, "made up of former members of biochem units, technical escort units, and the Nuclear Emergency Search Team. Their purpose was to respond to threats involving next-generation weapons of mass destruction, including NBC weapons." NBC meant Nuclear, Biological, Chemical, the three types of weapons of mass destruction.  
  
"Until they' were added, that is," Dr. Hunter added.  
  
"Who's they?" Snake asked.  
  
"These guys didn't start out as regular army," the retired Army colonel stated, bringing up a unit photo from the field. They were all dressed in olive drab Nomex flight suits, olive drab combat boots, load carrying equipment, elbow and knee pads, and fingerless gloves. The taller ones, mostly Caucasian and African, stood in the back, while a mix of Caucasians, Asians, and Africans took a knee. Most carried some variant of the AK assault rifle, but some had their hands on M16A1 5.56mm fully automatic assault rifles.  
  
"Looks like a pretty international group..." Snake agreed. "Mercenaries?"  
  
"Yeah, and it gets worse. Most of them were from a merc agency that I think you're familiar with. They were part of Big Boss' private guard, and after Big Boss went down, the military just bought out all their contracts."  
  
"Outer Heaven..." Snake growled softly, remembering the inferno of a base burning around him, a large machine flaming, and a man dead in front of him. He shook it from his head and refocused his attention.  
  
"After that, they were merged with our own VR unit Force XXI and retrained. If you ask me, these so called Next-Generation Special Forces' should be called simulated soldiers.' They have no real battle experience." The colonel said the last part of the sentence with a venomous tone. He was an old fashioned soldier, and it showed.  
  
"Video game players, huh?" Snake smirked. This mission was going to be an easy piece of cake.  
  
Dr. Naomi saw the look on his face and said, "Don't forget they've all been strengthened with gene therapy. They carry genes that make them excellent soldiers. Don't get careless just because they don't have much experience."  
  
Snake turned to the good doctor and informed her, "I thought that using genetically modified soldiers was prohibited by international law."  
  
"Yes..." she said slowly, "but those are just declarations, not actual treaties."  
  
She had a point. If it wasn't a treaty, it could be broken with no serious consequences.  
  
"The interesting thing," Campbell broke in, "is that nearly every member of the unit conspired in this attack."  
  
Snake was shocked. There were fail-safes to prevent this type of thing. What the hell was going on? "How can an entire unit be subverted into rebellion?"  
  
"They're calling it a revolution,'" she informed Snake.  
  
"Since they all went through the same gene therapy," Campbell explained, "they probably felt closer than brothers. They see the unit as their only family."  
  
"The Sons of Big Boss..." Snake muttered again, now understanding the name in its entirety. "But if they were regular army, they must have been interviewed periodically by army counselors."  
  
"According to their files, they all got straight A's on their psychological tests. They all seemed like fine, upstanding, patriotic soldiers."  
  
"But they all took part in the uprising?"  
  
"No. Several people didn't show up the day of the exercise. That's why there was a resupply of troops."  
  
"Was there any sign recently that something might be wrong?"  
  
Campbell sighed, and rubbed the crook of his neck with the palm of his hand. "There was a report a month ago that they were acting strangely."  
  
Naomi Hunter stepped in. "Apparently, they consulted classified information about the soldier genes and performed their own gene therapy experiments."  
  
"They can do that even without you?"  
  
Naomi shrugged her slender shoulders. "Well, our gene therapy process is almost completely automated, and besides that they're all geniuses with IQs over 180."  
  
Snake mulled over whether or not that was natural or if that was genetically spliced in. Then the colonel spoke.  
  
"Even the existence of this Genome Army is a national secret of the highest order. We've been hoping to investigate this thing quietly and deal with it behind close doors."  
  
Snake never knew about this Genome Army until today. Even the few friends he had scattered throughout SpecWar never told him about this. It had to be one of the biggest wetworks operations to be kept secret. That couldn't be good.  
  
Colonel Roy Campbell moved on to the final part of the briefing, bring up a screen with six people, all standing in trenchcoats, looking like from a gang conspiracy movie or something of the sort. "High-Tech Special Forces Unit FOX-HOUND," he announced. "Your former unit, and one that I was a commander of. An elite group combining firepower and expertise. They're every bit as good as when I was commanding them."  
  
"So they're still around..." Snake's voice trailed off.  
  
"There are six members of FOX-HOUND involved in this terrorist activity," Campbell continued. "Psycho Mantis, with his powerful psychic abilities."   
  
A picture was shown of Mantis, a scrawny man wearing a black skintight leather suit with straps that made him look like an anorexic woman with bad fashion taste, and a gas mask to cover his face. Then the next picture was brought up.  
  
"Sniper Wolf, the beautiful and deadly sharpshooter."  
  
A beautiful woman, with skin tanned enough to barely pass for Arab, but not tanned enough to be instantly recognized as Arab except by the most skillful eyes. Her blond hair, high cheekbones, green eyes, medium C cup, slender waist, and toned legs made her very attractive, and she flaunted the bulge at her chest by opening her BDU shirt slightly enough to play with any man's eyes. She wore a dog collar around her neck for some reason, but Snake put it aside.  
  
"Decoy Octopus, master of disguise."  
  
The man called Octopus didn't look human. His skin had a Hispanic flair to it, but his cheek and jaw bones were thinner than normal, his nose almost nonexistent, and his ears...gone. He had chopped off his ears. The man's hair was militarily short, and he looked like an alien from a fifties' horror movie.  
  
"Vulcan Raven, giant and shaman."  
  
Shaman, Snake thought. Witch doctor mojo working. That thought brought a smile to his lips. The motherfucker must have been about 6'10" and weighed 290 at the least. Black tatoos decorated his tanned skin, with a raven on his bald forehead. That must've hurt, the FOX-HOUND veteran winced. Raven was nothing but muscle, and looked as if a flick of his fingers could kill a normal man.  
  
"Revolver Ocelot, specialist in interrogation, and a formidable gunfighter."  
  
This one looked like a cowboy from the Wild West: long, white flowing hair, silver moustache that slightly turned into a handlebar at the ends, old fashioned tie and bullet bandolier, cowboy boots, and a black armband. Snake almost laughed, then reconsidered. If they got into FOX-HOUND, they must have been real badasses. They got their due respect.  
  
"Looks like a lovely bunch of folks," Snake said sarcastically. "Too bad we'll be meeting under these circumstances." Too bad for them, he didn't add.  
  
"And finally," Campbell murmured, "in charge of them: FOX-HOUND's squad leader, Liquid Snake."  
  
Snake's eyes went wide at the mention of that code name. The top five code name rankings were Fox, Bear, Snake, Dragon, and Cardinal. Out of those five names, thirty seven had received Cardinal, twenty five Dragon, two Snake, five Bear, and one Fox. The other Snake, Silver Snake, had been killed in a FOX-HOUND operation thirteen years earlier. The squad leader had to be extremely skilled in order to earn that name.  
  
"Liquid Snake?!" the FOX-HOUND veteran exclaimed.  
  
"Yes," Campbell breathed. "And you're the only person who can stand up to him."  
  
"Liquid Snake?" Snake repeated.  
  
"Liquid Snake," Campbell confirmed. "The man with the same code name as you."  
  
"Tell me what you know," Snake ordered.  
  
"He fought in Gulf War as a teenager," the colonel started. "The youngest person in the SAS." The SAS was the British Secret Air Service, the UK equivalent of Delta Force. "His job was to track down and destroy mobile SCUD missile launching platforms. You were there too, I believe. Didn't you infiltrate western Iraq with a platoon of Green Berets?"  
  
Snake remembered his first combat, surrounded in an ambush. His platoon had suffered three casualties, but the Iraqi force, twice as big as his team, were all eliminated. "I was just a kid myself back then."  
  
"The details are classified," Campbell continued, "but it seems that originally, he penetrated the Middle East as a sleeper for the SIS."  
  
"He was a spy for the British Secret Intelligence Service?" Snake asked. SIS, also known as MI-6, was the equivalent of the CIA, and had a lot more power and effectiveness than the CIA, being bogged down with less rules.  
  
"But he never once showed his face in Century House," Campbell said. Century House was the HQ of SIS. "He was taken prisoner in Iraq, and after that there was no trace of him for several years. After you retired, he was rescued and became a member of FOX-HOUND."  
  
"I thought by the time I left, they were no longer using code names," Snake pointed out.  
  
"I don't know his real name," the colonel admitted. "That information is so highly classified that even I can't look at it." Colonel Campbell reached for a folder marked Top Secret, and handed it to Snake. "Here's a picture of him."  
  
The grunt opened the folder slowly, and saw himself. Then, noting the slight differences, he gasped at the picture. Same blond hair, same high cheekbones, same cold, lifeless eyes, same precise nose...it was him.  
  
"Pretty shocking, huh?" Campbell agreed. "His skin tone is different, but otherwise, you two are exact duplicates."  
  
"I have a twin?" Snake whispered, barely heard in the metal room.  
  
"I don't know the details," the colonel said, "but it seems so. That's why we need you for this mission."  
  
"You're the only one who can beat him," Naomi announced. "Now that I've met you, I know. You've got something that he doesn't. I can see it in your eyes."  
  
The warrior looked the good doctor in the eye slowly, staring into the brown eyes of the beautiful female. "Why don't I find that thought more comforting?" he asked, piercing her eyes with his gaze. She couldn't bear it, and turned away. Still looking, he noticed her medical kit, and saw a pair of scissors.  
  
"I need to borrow your scissors," he stated.  
  
"What are you going to do?" she asked cautiously.  
  
"I just need to clean myself up a little," he assured her.   
  
"Huh?" she asked, handing him the cutting tools.  
  
"Don't want to be mistaken for the leader of the terrorists," Snake explained, the scissors slicing through hair, blond locks falling to the ground.  
  
The mission was on. 


	2. Infiltration

The U.S.S. Discovery kept moving along toward the objective, always moving, getting in position. Onboard, a man, dressed in neoprene, including a removable hood, equipped with goggles, a LAR-V Draeger rebreather, flippers over combat boots, and a 3005 Special Operations Tactical holster, without any weapons, stepped inside a small container, about seven feet in length, and two Navy seamen closed the entrance, loading the Swimmer Delivery Vehicle into the torpedo tube.   
  
The men counted off. "Three, two, one, fire!" the men yelled. A third seaman pressed a red button, launching the mini-sub to its location. Inside, Solid Snake shook violently as the force of the torpedo tube propelled him to the island. He fought violently to keep his head from hitting the top of the SDV, and gripped on for dear life. It was like this for about five minutes, when finally, it was calm enough to loosen up a bit and think about the mission.  
  
Liquid Snake, Snake thought. Liquid Snake. Former SAS and SIS. POW. FOX-HOUND squad leader. Deadly warrior. Why would he go rogue? Was he pissed off at the military system? Maybe one of the hostages? World domination? Was he Islamic, and wanted to kill off "The Great Satan?" Finally, the special operator stopped thinking about it. Better to save your strength, Snake. You still got it man?  
  
Time to find out.  
  
The SDV came to a slow pace, allowing Snake to push out the entrance to the SDV. Coiling up, the warrior shoved off and kicked toward the surface, both legs moving in the same direction simultaneously, arms to the side, making him move quicker. His rebreather recycled his CO2 and, using a mixed gas system and several filters, turned it into oxygen. Snake had about two hours on the rebreather left, but he wouldn't need that long. It's only be a few minutes before he'd surface.  
  
That's where the fun and games began.  
  
* * *  
  
The underground storage facility was the worst place to be pulling guard duty, at least in the mind of James Raymonds. He was former SEAL Team Six, and knew all about suffering, the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL school, or BUD/S, being a masochist's dream. But stuck under the surface in steadily dropping Arctic temperatures, his body was being pushed to the limits.  
  
As he turned around, a wraith slowly emerged from the water, surveying his scenery. The white clad commando sentry sneezed, rubbed his nose through the ashen balaclava, then turned around, missing the intruder. As he walked toward the eastern side of the basement, he saw his buddy, Bill Macintosh, talking with the commander, Liquid Snake.  
  
Raymonds shuddered. Liquid Snake was the most fearsome man he had ever known, and one of the original Sons of Big Boss, being born of his cells, one of his only two children. Liquid had survived four years of torture and interrogation in Iraq, being made to do things such as wipe defecate from his glutemus maximus and licking his fingers clean. It was a good thing the Delta Force detachment got him when he did. Raymonds had been in on that briefing, and had seen the man, starved, ribs exposed, face sunken, poisoned, on the verge of death. Now, he was the personification of Death.  
  
"Stay alert!" he ordered to Macintosh. "He'll be through here...I know it." Bill snapped to attention and pointed his rifle toward heaven, looking straight ahead. After two seconds at standing at the position of attention, Macintosh resumed his previous stance.  
  
"I'm going to swat down a couple of bothersome flies..." he growled, his British accented voice sounding extremely annoyed. Macintosh ignored it and went back to his patrol. The klaxon horn sounded off as Liquid was elevated back toward the ground level. I'm coming for you, Solid Snake, he thought, crossing his arms as the view of the storage facility steadily disappeared from his vision.  
  
By this time, Solid Snake had surfaced on the western side, sitting on some stairs, discarding his flippers. He kept the rest, just in case he needed a quick escape to the water. Walking up another small flight of stairs, he took a knee and activated the Codec communications system.   
  
Colonel Roy Campbell's craggy, aged face filled his wristwatch screen. "This is Snake," he whispered to the screen. "Colonel, can you hear me?"  
  
"Loud and clear," the colonel affirmed. "What's the situation, Snake?"  
  
"Looks like the elevator in the back is the only way up," Snake muttered, obviously disappointed. He was hoping for it to be slightly easier, but then again, nothing was easy in this business.  
  
"Just as I expected," Campbell sighed. "You'll have to take the elevator to the surface, but make sure nobody sees you. If you need to, contact me by Codec. The frequency is 140.85. When you want to use the Codec, activate the transmitter. When we need to contact you, the Codec will beep. When you hear that noise, activate the transmitter."  
  
Jesus, you think I'm in first grade or something, old man? Snake thought, the cocked eyebrow beneath his hood conveying the same message, which Campbell couldn't see. "The Codec's receiver directly stimulates the small bones of your ear. No one but you will be able to hear it."  
  
"Got it," Snake said. "Okay, I'm ready to go." Snake tapped the transmitter with two fingers and killed the connection, now looking over to his other wrist screen. It displayed a red dot with sky blue cone, heading to his location. He was safe only because a heat generator block the white clad guard's vision. Slowly, the FOX-HOUND commando crawled underneath the generator, removing his S23A7 prototype binoculars, with a zoom capability of one kilometer. It was a powerful scope, and would be useful in this covert operation.  
  
Peering through the scope, he zoomed in on the guard, catching a glimpse of the unit patch. It was one of a fox holding a knife in its mouth, with the letters "NGSF" surrounding it. So, these are Next Generation Special Forces, Snake mused. He turned around, and the grunt crawled from under the generator, sprinting quickly to hug the wall.   
  
Peeking around the corner, the guard checked a hallway, leaving Snake a clear passage to move up. Purposefully deliberate in his motions, the silent warrior crept up behind the unsuspecting Genome Soldier. As he turned around and began to walk, Snake made his move. Kicking the back of his knee, his gloved left hand came up to muffle the outcry. Sliding his right arm around the victim's neck, his left hand moved to behind the head, and thrusted forward violently, crushing the windpipe and suffocating him.   
  
Solid Snake had scored first blood.  
  
Grabbing the guard underneath his armpits, the FOX-HOUND commando swiftly dragged the corpse to a wall, setting him up against the wall as if he were sleeping. After procuring a medical kit from him, which consisted of bandages, a small supply of food, and various bodily fluids, he left the weapons and ran to a container, clinging to the cold steel. The klaxon horn began to bellow again as the red lights flashed. Another guard stood inside, FAMAS assault rifle up and ready, inspecting his new guarding area. He was brought from his investigation by a noise.  
  
"What was that?" he asked aloud, slowly walking toward the second middle container, the source of the noise. His black combat boots made a clicking noise as he stepped with skill, gun up, ready to fire. The Next Generation Special Forces soldier leapt around the corner, rifle brought to bear. Nothing was there. The soldier felt stupid as he turned around...to see a man dressed in all black cocking up and slamming his massive fist into his face.   
  
Snake slammed his other fist into the guard's solar plexus, making him lose his breath. Finally, he brought the guard's head down and slammed his boot into the back of the sentry's head, instantly knocking him out. Throwing him aside, the grunt ran to the elevator and pressed the up button. The platform rose and the klaxon wailed again, bringing the intruder toward the surface.  
  
Quickly and silently, the commando slipped off the goggles, throwing them to the platform. After rubbing his eyes thoroughly, he tenderly slipped off the rebreather, setting it to the ground. Finally, he unzipped his neoprene hood and set it to the ground, and then reached into the pocket of his specially made neoprene Battle Dress Uniform pants, removing a black bandanna. Snake tied it around his head, then looked up toward the surface, then at his radar. Referring to the clock in the bottom right corner, he had taken five minutes to get to the surface.  
  
Not bad, considering he hadn't done it in four years. 


	3. Penetration

Solid Snake had finished getting ready to infiltrate, pulling elbow and knee pads from pockets on his customized Neoprene BDUs, and pulled out a plastic bag that was half eaten way, removing the contents and smiling to himself. After discarding his bag, he looked up toward the top, now beginning to view the ground level. Klaxon horns sounded off at the top, and Snake growled, thinking, I don't see why they don't just have guns pointed at me as I come it. It's so damn noisy.  
  
The platform finished rising, and the horns died down, giving the FOX-HOUND commando a clear view of everything. In front of him was a chain wire fence, and beyond that was a room which Snake couldn't see the contents of, and a guard standing next to a wall. To the right of the guard was the main door, big, steel, and bolted shut. Only authorized personnel could pass through. Directly in front of the door was what Snake presumed to be a cargo truck. Good hiding spot, Snake thought quickly, his eyes moving back toward him. A huge heliport, with a large helicopter on it, blocked vision of most of the truck, which led to a metal container. The grunt stopped looking.  
  
He had found his hiding spot.  
  
Bolting from the elevator, the dark clad man moved quickly and quietly to the box, his soft rubber soled boots assisting in helping him move stealthily. Stopping behind the container, his seasoned eyes quickly scanned the area for sentries, finding none. Satisfied with his location, he took a knee and pressed two fingers to the Codec transmitter.  
  
Campbell came up on the screen, his face still grim, stoic, serious. Snake looked down at the screen, his face uncovered in its entirety. "It's Snake," he informed the colonel, as if he needed to know. "I'm in front of the disposal facility."  
  
Colonel Campbell took in Solid Snake's features. He was clean shaven now, the beginnings of his bear now eliminated. The blond hair had been dyed a dark brown, and now it was an inch thick, long enough to keep his head somewhat warm, but short enough that it was hard to grab a fistfull of it. Snake was ready to work, as demonstrated earlier.  
  
"Excellent, Snake," the retired colonel praised. "Age hasn't slowed you down one bit."  
  
Snake's face was haunted with the ghost of a smile, then was instantly exorcised. Naomi's beautiful face replaced Campbell's craggy one, a smile slightly still on her face. "How's the Sneaking Suit working out?" she inquired.  
  
"I'm nice and dry," Snake stated, "but it's a little hard to move."  
  
Pressure was being put on his torso, his legs and arm movements restricted, not abling Snake to do his 360§ roundhouse kick he usually performed in hand to hand combat. Running was also restriced somewhat, but the commando figured he should stop complaining. It kept him from freezing to death,.  
  
"Bear with it," she joked with him, then getting serious, she explained, "It's designed to prevent hypothermia. This is Alaska, y'know."  
  
"Take it easy," the grunt assured the good doctor, "I'm grateful. If it weren't for your suit and your shot, I would have turned into a popsicle out there."  
  
"An anti-freezing peptide, Snake," Hunter reminded Snake. "All of the Genome Soldiers in this exercise are using it."  
  
A slight grin unmasked itself on Snake's experienced face. "I see. I'm relieved to hear that. Already tested huh?" The grin gone, he asked, "by the way, how's the diversionary operation going?"  
  
Campbell's face filled the wrist screen again. "Two F-16s just took off from Galena, and are headed your way," he informed his soldier. "The terrorists' radar should have already picked them up."  
  
The grunt peeked around the corner, a sudden noise gathering his attention. The lights on the helicopter were on, and two Genomes stood next to a blond man, wearing a trenchcoat. As he turned around, Snake spotted his face slightly. Liquid...he thought. Then, the commando got his first good look at the helicopter.   
  
It was a Mi-24D, NATO designation Hind-D. It was a direct air support helicopter, equipped with a turreted mounted four barrel .50cal gatling machine gun, twelve 57mm rockets, six each to a launcher, and four AT-2C/SWATTER air to ground missiles. It was also used for transportation, and could carry eight soldiers. With a maximum speed of about 208 miles an hour, the Hind-D was a forced to be reckoned with.  
  
Snake saw the chopper and said to the colonel, "A Hind-D? Colonel, what's a Russian gunship doing here?"  
  
"I have no idea," Campbell replied as the rotors started up. Liquid started climbing in the cockpit as the colonel continued, "But it looks like our little diversion got their attention. Now's your best chance to slip in unnoticed!"  
  
The Hind started to lift into the night sky, blowing snow and wind at the Genomes that had escorted him, forcing them to cover their eyes. Snake watched as the monster rose into the sky and flew over head, sending snow his way. The commando stood as the gunship flew off into the sky to meet its threat.   
  
Taking a knee again, Campbell reminded Snake, "There are only eighteen hours left until their deadline. You've got to hurry!"  
  
Snake was about to respond, when a young, healthy, beautiful voice voice exclaimed, "Wow...he must be crazy to fly a Hind in this kind of weather!"  
  
The warrior's face darkened. The voice wasn't from the briefing. "Who's that?" he demanded.  
  
The colonel grinned sheepishly at his soldier, saying, "Oh, sorry. I haven't introduced you two yet..." Then the retired Army colonel became serious again. "This is Mei Ling. She was assigned to us as our visual data processing specialist. She designed your Codec, as well as your Soliton radar system. Contact her if you have questions on either of them."  
  
The picture changed, and a lovely looking girl, jet black hair, slightly bronzed skin, slanted brown eyes, and thin lips smiled childlishly at the grunt. She giggled like a school girl with a crush, and finally said, "Nice to meet you Snake. It's an honor to speak to a...a living legend as yourself..."  
  
She expected him to say something back, but he just stared, taking in her every facial feature, burning it into his memory. It would be a good thing to remember when the times got bad. Mei Ling was a beautiful girl, although she acted a bit under her age.  
  
Mei Ling looked over herself as if she had something bad on her face and asked, "What's wrong?"  
  
The FOX-HOUND commando smiled. "Nothing," he assured her. "I just didn't expect a world class designer of military technology to be so..." He paused, looking for the right word. "...Cute."  
  
The girl giggled again, then said, "You're just flattering me..."  
  
"No, I'm serious," he reassured her. "Well, I know I won't be bored for the next eighteen hours..."  
  
"C'mon," she laughed. "I can't believe I'm being hit on by the famous Solid Snake..." Her smiled lighted a bit. "But, I'm surprised. You're very frank for a trained killer."  
  
"Looks like we both have a lot to learn about each other," Snake smiled.  
  
"Yeah," Mei Ling, in her lightly accented English, conceded. "I look forward to learning about the man behind the legend...but first, let me explain about your Soliton radar system."  
  
Snake, like a proper student, observed his radar wrist screen like a pupil would observe his textbook. The red dot with blue cone walked toward the blinking dot in the center, paused, then turned around and returned to his original starting place.   
  
"The bright dot in the middle is you, Snake," Mei Ling explained. "The red dots are your enemies, and the blue cone shape represents their field of vision."  
  
"How?" Snake wondered aloud.  
  
"Nanomachines have programmed their vital stats already," Naomi Hunter explained. "Be careful, Snake. The Genome soldiers have highly developed senses of hearing and vision due to their gene therapy. Make sure you don't let them see you."  
  
Colonel Campbell's voice came back on. "First," he ordered, "I want you to infiltrate the disposal site, and look for the DARPA Chief."  
  
Naomi came back on. "The DARPA Chief was injected with the same GPS transmitting nanomachines as you."  
  
Mei Ling. "He should appear on your radar as a green dot."  
  
Campbell. "Get whatever information you can from him about the terrorists. If he's alive, that is..."  
  
He should be, Snake thought. They need him for their demands. They wouldn't be stupid enough to kill him yet, would they? Who knows?  
  
"Snake, your radar isn't affected by the weather," Mei Ling pointed out, "but if you're discovered by an enemy, you won't be able to use it."  
  
"Yes," Campbell agreed. "It gets jammed easily, I'm afraid."  
  
"Yes," Mei Ling continued. "It's all made from currently existing technology. You won't be able to use it in an area with strong harmonic resonance, so be careful."  
  
"We'll be monitoring your movements by radar," the colonel announced, "so contact us by Codec anytime you want."  
  
"Got it," Snake acknowledged, adding cynically, "I'll call if I'm feeling lonely."  
  
Naomi came on, and looked slightly upset at Snake's dark sense of humor. "Seriously, Snake," she said, "we're here to back you up, so call if you need some information or advice."  
  
Mei Ling came on again, and said, "I'm also in charge of your mission data. Contact me if you want me to record your current status. My frequency is 140.96. It's a dedicated frequency for saving data. Don't forget it." She winked at him, and the craggy face of the colonel reappeared.  
  
"Remember," Campbell announced, "except for your binoculars, you're naked. You need to arm yourself with whatever weapons you can find."  
  
"I remember," Snake growled. "First, I'm strip searched by Dr. Naomi here, then all my weapons are taken away. Imagine yourself put in that position." Not that one seven round magazine of 7.65mm for a PPK would do any good, Snake didn't at, for his benefit.  
  
"Well," Naomi said in a sultry tone, "if make it back in one piece, maybe I'll let you do a strip search on me."  
  
The thought of inspecting the slim body, feeling the full breasts, and having the slender legs wrapped around him was intriguing. Snake smiled at the thought. "I'll hold you to that, Doctor," he grinned. As an afterthought, he added, "By the way, sorry to disappoint you, but I did manage to smuggle out my smokes."  
  
Her face instantly look as if a Kansas tornado had swept across it. "How did you do that?" she demanded.  
  
"In my stomach," Snake grinned. It had hurt to cut his stomach open before donning the Neoprene suit, but he wasn't about to go into battle without his smokes and a lighter. "Thanks to the shots you gave me to suppress my stomach acids."  
  
Mei Ling popped back up, a cocked eyebrow displayed on her face. "Cigarettes? How are those going to help you?"  
  
The commando gave the smile of explaining something one would never understand, and said gently, "You never know."  
  
Back on task, Snake observed a hilltop. When surveying an area, get to higher ground. It wasn't much as hills go, but it was all he had. Running up to the hill, he removed his S23A7 binocs, turned them on, and peered through them, watching the front door as the scope transmitted the picture back to HQ.   
  
"If you want to get in," Campbell stated, "there's the front door. It's the fastest way, but there's too much risk of being spotted by the enemy."  
  
Zooming in on a sentry, Snake muttered, "I can't just knock on the door and ask them to let me in..." Naomi smiled at that comment, and Mei Ling giggled, Snake only realizing his humor a few seconds later, smiling to himself before returning to the task at hand. "Uhh...there's one sentry on the left, and one on the right." Zooming in more, he noted, "They're armed with five-five-sixers and pineapples."  
  
Five-five-sixers referred to any assault rifle or submachine gun that was chambered in the 5.56mm caliber. It was a common round, used in many automatic weapons, but more people desired 7.62mm assault rifles, the old standard of NATO and the Soviet Union. Pineapples were fragmentation grenades, named after of their WWII predecessors. The guards' weaponry was top notch.  
  
Putting his scope away, Snake ran across to the other side, just in front of the elevator. Pulling out the S23A7 again, he zoomed in to a dark hole behind a guard. "What about the air duct near the door?" Campbell suggested. Snake mentally ruled it out, since there was a guard in the way. Looking up, the colonel also implied, "There should also be a duct on the second floor."  
  
The commando, having great eyes, checked once over, then twice, then three times. He saw two spotlights and a soldier pulling guard. "I can't see it from here," he complained.  
  
Putting away his binoculars, he ran back to cover, taking a knee. "I'll let you decide the best COA," Colonel Campbell announced, meaning Course of Approach or Course of Action, as you like it. "I'm counting on you, Snake." With that, the connection was closed, and Snake sat down to smoke a Winston, to get his nicotine going.  
  
Then, he would get the party started.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
The two silver F-16 Fighting Falcon aircrafts sped along at a steady rate, about six hundred miles an hour, moving toward the objective. They were armed with four AIM-6 Sidewinder homing missiles and a 7.62mm Vulcan minigun, but other than that, were not very well armed. If the mission went well, they wouldn't have to fire a shot.  
  
The mission, however, never went right.  
  
The first Fighting Falcon began to get a signal on his screen. "Maverick to Rogue," he said into the radio. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"  
  
"Yeah," the pilot nicknamed Rogue stated. "What the hell is is?"  
  
"He'll be in ID range within thirty seconds," Maverick announced. "Jam his radar."  
  
"Roger that," Rogue confirmed. "Radar jamming is on."  
  
The two jets accelerated, hoping that it was just another US jet and they could turn around and go home. They assumed a fighting formation, and maintained their high speed. Twenty-five seconds later, the ID showed up on the jet's radar.  
  
"A Hind-D?" Maverick said. "What the hell? Does this guy think he's good enough to take on two jets?"  
  
"I have a feeling we're about to find out," Rogue said. "Weapons free, Cap?"  
  
"Weapons free," Maverick announced, readying his Sidewinder missiles.   
  
Quickly swerving around the Russian helicopter, Maverick dove toward the water, pulling up at the last second and turning around, getting Liquid's Hind in his sights. Hearing the loud electronic hum that came with missile lock on, Maverick flipped a cover and pressed a red button.  
  
Inside the Hind, Liquid heard the missile lock on, and knew his radar was jammed. Smiling at the situation, the FOX-HOUND squad leader increased speed, flying directly toward the other jet that hadn't fired yet. "If they want a game," he said to himself, "they'll get one."  
  
Rogue saw the beast speeding toward him, and prepared to fire. Pushing his finger on the button, he got no response. He tried thrice more, then screamed, "Maverick!!! My fucking weapons aren't working!!!!!"  
  
Liquid Snake smiled as he flew the Hind just under the jet and rose again. Rogue screamed his final breath of air as the AIM-6 rammed into his Fighting Falcon, blowing him up, the inferno of the former jet rocketing to the ground to meet its graveyard in the Bering Sea.  
  
Slowly turning the Hind around, Liquid screamed into the microphone he had installed into the chopper, "Eat this!!"  
  
Firing one of the AT-2C/SWATTER missiles, a blaze of fire erupted from the left side of the Hind, screaming toward Maverick. The F-16 tried diving again, to no avail. Turning and twisting all over the place, he hoped he could dodge the missile long enough for it to run out of fuel. He had no intentions of dying this night.  
  
His intentions weren't met.  
  
To enforce the issue, Liquid Snake fired a staccato of .50cal rounds from his Gatling gun, spraying all toward the American pilot. In order to dodge the lethal machine killers, Maverick turned the opposite way. That's when the missile hit him, blowing him up into tiny shreds, and ending the diversionary operation.  
  
Satisfied with his work, Liquid accessed his codec. "Raven?"  
  
"Yes, Boss?" came the reply from the other party, a deep, booming voice.  
  
"Contact the Pentagon," he ordered. "Tell them I want to speak with Colonel Roy Campbell."  
  
* * *  
  
While his twin' was shooting down the F-16 fighter jets, Solid Snake hugged a wall. Directly behind him was the heliport, but crossing through there was not an option. Two spotlights constantly covered the heliport, leaving a seven second gap in the middle for anyone to cross. Snake was not interested in being caught when the only items he had were a medical kit, cigarettes, and the S23A7. He actually planned on bringing them back intact, so using them as weapons wasn't the best option.  
  
If he had to use them as weapons, however, chances were he wasn't coming back.  
  
The first sentry he had spotted a regular patrol pattern. He would come to a box that was about twenty yards from Snake, and thirty yards to the cliff that led to the Bering Sea, go to a staircase, stroll around another box next to a cargo truck, then come back again. Snake needed an opportunity to strike, and he needed one now.  
  
The guard began to come back to the first box. Moving a bit to the left to avoid detection, the FOX-HOUND commando peered through his scope, concetrating on the NGSF sentry. It was as if he was sleepwalking, just moving automatically, like a machine. He stopped, looked around, deemed the area clear, sneezed, and returned to his patrol.  
  
The sentinel kept on walking, oblivious to the fact that Death was stalking him, creeping up behind him, ready to claim his soul. Slowly, and softly, Snake sneaked his way to the guard. As he made his second checkpoint, Snake grabbed him by the neck, dragging him away toward the original box. After reaching that point, the FOX-HOUND commando violently shoved the NGSF soldier's head forward, making a loud crack severing the spinal cord and killing him quickly. Burying the soldier in the snow, not out of respect, but to keep from being detected, Snake moved on.  
  
As the commando neared the stairs, he noticed something that he didn't see before while monitoring the sentry's path. It was about a foot long, and four inches wide, with a lens on the front base. Mounted on the wall seven feet above the stairs, it turned back and forth, watching for any intruders.  
  
"A surviellance camera?" Snake growled, pissed that his enemies were getting one step ahead of him. Watching on his radar, he saw a red dot, except with a yellow cone. Sluggishly, it moved back and forth, watching for intruders. A flashback from FOX-HOUND basic training took place in Snake's mind.  
  
"When coming up against a surviellance camera too high to take out," the calm, cool, reassuring voice of Master Sergeant McDonnell Miller, US Army, whom every trainee called Master, explained, "remember this: there is a blind spot underneath the camera. The key is to move under when its head is turned, and to move again when it is in the direction opposite the one you intend to move in."  
  
Reusing that advice, Snake watched as the camera moved its head to the left. Taking advantage, Snake positioned himself directly underneath the security device. Paying close attention to his radar, the camera moved all the way to the right. As soon as that happened, he dashed up the first flight of stiars, slamming his back against the wall. Still paying attention to the radar, he noticed that a guard was directly above him, watching around. Snake breathed silently, willing the guard with all of his thought to not looked down. After looking, the sentry walked backward to the end of the second flight of stairs, took a peek, then kept on walking.  
  
Moving quickly up the stairs, Snake sprinted down the walkway with the two spotlights. When he was within three feet of the guard, the FOX-HOUND commando leapt as high in the air as the suit would allow him, and struck the guard in the head with his foot. Just as quickly, he broke the sentry's jaw with a right hook, then picked him up and threw him over the balcony. That woke the guard up.  
  
Damn, Snake thought, as he searched for the air duct to enter through. As he kept looking, the Codec rang in his ear. Hiding in one of the gaps in the walls, Snake took a knee and accepted the incoming radio traffic.  
  
Colonel Campbell filled the wrist screen. "Snake," he said shakily, "you're not going to believe this, but they shot down the F-16s we were using as a diversion...with a Hind-D! Then we got a message from Liquid. He said if we try something like that again, he'll launch the nuke!"  
  
Snake opened his mouth, when Campbell cut him off. "Snake, hurry up and get in there! That Hind will be coming back soon!" The connection was killed, and the FOX-HOUND command slammed his fist against the wall. He was about to get caught, if he wasn't already. That was not good.  
  
A warm breeze gently tickled the back of Snake's neck, and he put his gloved hand to it. It was not natural...then the comando looked down. There was his air duct. At the cry of, "what the hell?!" Snake crawled in quickly. There was no need for him to be caught now.  
  
He was now thirty seven minutes underway.  
  
Seventeen hours and twenty three minutes left until doomsday. 


	4. Ventilation Shaft and Tank Hangar

Solid Snake crawled through the cold, metal ventilation shaft, trying to put as much distance between himself and the heliport before they discovered that he had killed their comrades. The mission was still going well technically; he hadn't been caught yet. But, he knew things could go sour really quick if he didn't watch his back.  
  
Using the low crawl taught to him at Army basic training, the FOX-HOUND commando navigated his way through the claustrophobic vent, trying to keep moving and ignoring the resonance of his breathing all around him. Suddenly, the Codec rang in his ear. Expecting Campbell, he pressed the transmitter against his shoulder, not having enough arm space to do it with his hands.  
  
Turning his Codec wrist around to see the screen, a familiar face manifested itself on the screen. The man had blond hair, tied back in a small pony tail, with Army standard issue aviator sunglasses, which the man had use for, since he was a qualified Army pilot, a pointy nose, not long, just pointy, thin lips and high cheekbones.  
  
"Snake," the confident, smooth voice announced, "this is McDonell Miller. It's been a long time." Miller smiled when he said the last part of the sentence.  
  
"Master?" Snake asked, happy to see his old FOX-HOUND drill sergeant. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I quit being a drill instructor, so I moved out here for some peace and quiet," Master explained. "I'm in retirement, just like you. Once in a while, I help train the Alaskan scouts."  
  
Those Boy Scouts must be the most deadly Boy Scouts in the world, Snake thought with a smile. "Passing on the skills to a new generation, huh?"   
  
Miller smiled, then continued. "Campbell told me about the situation here. I thought I might be of some use."  
  
That was an understatement. McDonell Miller was a legend in FOX-HOUND, up there with Gray Fox, Big Boss, and Solid Snake. "There's no one I'd rather have in a foxhole than you," Snake stated.  
  
"Well," Miller smiled, "I know lots about survival in a harsh environment. I've lived in Alaska longer than you, so call me if you have questions about the flora or fauna here. My frequency is 141.80."  
  
141.80, Snake remembered, before the line was killed. He'd put it in the Codec's memory as soon as he got enough arm room. Looking ahead, the warrior trudged another twenty five feet through the metallic labyrinth, before coming upon two guards directly below him conversing. It was time to gather some intelligence.  
  
"I moved the DARPA chief to the cell in the first floor basement," one guard, dressed in olive drab BDUs, a balaclava, combat boots, gloves, and LBEs announced to another guard, similarly dressed.  
  
"What about the vent shaft cleaning?" the other one, a higher pitched voice, inquired.  
  
"They just opened the vent covers," the first one announced. As soon as he said that, a large boom noise signaling the beginning of something being run through the ventilation system was heard. "They're about to start spraying for rats."  
  
First floor basement ventilation shaft, Snake thought, looking around to make sure that no rat poison came his way.  
  
"Shut those covers as soon as they're done spraying," the first one ordered. "Also, keep your eye on that woman in the cell. Don't get careless now."  
  
Woman in the cell? Snake wondered, staying still, trying to glean more information off of the two guards who had no clue what operational security was. The FOX-HOUND commando couldn't blame them; they were in charge of the place, and felt at home, and security slipped when you felt at home.  
  
"Why, Sarge?" the second one asked. "Did something happen?"  
  
"There's an intruder," the "Sarge" announced.  
  
Shit.  
  
"Really?" the inferior one asked.  
  
"He's already done three people," Sarge relayed to his soldier.  
  
They're on to me.  
  
"He's killed three people?" the subordinate said.  
  
"Yeah. Say he's using stealth, too."  
  
Stealth? Snake thought. There's an intruder besides me? He had been caught, no doubt about it, after knocking the other guard to the ground. But this one was keeping out of sight. That was the first possibility. The second was that he was using an invisibility gadget. His few friends throughout SpecWar had told him about this, but he thought it was just heresay. This incident might had proven it to be true.  
  
"Anyway," Sarge said, killing the discussion, "I want you to increase the security detail on the chief."  
  
"Yes, Sergeant." The two walked back, assuming their regular patrols. After hearing the conversation, Snake had a handle. All he had to do was twist now. The commando had a location: first floor basement. He had a insertion method: the ventilation shaft. All that was left was to carry out the act.  
  
And that's what Snake intended to do.  
  
* * *  
  
Snake found the exit to the ventilation shaft three minutes later. Looking down, there was no sentries posted at his spot. Crawling ahead of the hole, his feet went first, and then his waist, then finally his upper body. He climbed down a ten foot ladder, then looked over a balcony that was a good fifteen or twenty feet in the air. His Codec rang again, and Snake ran behind two containers to receive the call.  
  
"Use the elevator to change floors," were the first words out of Colonel Campbell's mouth. "Mei Ling has looked at the blueprints for this base. You are in the tank hangar. There should be a cargo elevator that you can take down somewhere around there. Try to find it." The call was killed before Snake could say anything.   
  
Next to his foot was a box, probably misplaced. Picking it up, he found three round cylinder grenades, which at first he mistook for stun grenades. Upon further inspection, he noticed a large ridge at the bottom, identifying them as chaff grenades.   
  
Chaff grenades worked by dispersing metallic strips of various frequencies and thickness, confusing electronic equipment and making jamming for all electronic equipment within a hundred foot radius. They were useful in infiltration, and were also used to jam guided missiles.  
  
Clipping them to his belt, he looked around, finding a surveillance camera. Watching his radar, Snake moved when the camera was pointed in the opposite direction, standing directly beneath the blind spot. As the device slowly moved back, the commando moved again, looking into a large open room.   
  
Pulling out a chaff grenade, Snake tossed one in there, and waited. As soon as it exploded, Snake ran into the room, searching it quick. The chaff had about a time limit of thirty seconds, and keeping that in mind, he searched in haste. Finding two boxes, he picked them both up and ran across the floor, hearing his footsteps resound. Stopping outside the room, he opened the boxes. The first one was a pair of AN/TVS-7 thermal goggles, which used thermal imaging to locate hidden persons, lasers, and claymore mines, among other things. Finding a case for them in the box, he clipped that onto his belt also, discarding the box.  
  
The second box was a welcome addition to his equipment: a Heckler and Koch .45cal handgun, from the markings on the slide. Snake wasn't familiar with the HK line of pistols, opting to use a Beretta 92FS 9mm instead. But, Snake wasn't about to complain, and began to inspect the handgun.  
  
The pistol was a double action pistol, from the looks of it, with a twelve round magazine. It was heavy, and took up quite an amount of ammunition, but for Snake, it was the best he had, and he wasn't about to complain. Leathering the unsuppressed pistol in the holster attached to his right pant leg, Snake also discarded that box, taking the additional magazine that came with the pistol.  
  
Finding the catwalk area to be secure, Snake took a knee and accessed the Codec, raising Colonel Campbell. "What's going on, Snake?"  
  
"I've picked up a pistol," Snake reported. "It's an HK model, but which model I don't know. I'm not into HK pistols."  
  
"I know. It's good you've got yourself a weapon. Don't fire your gun needlessly, or you might be discovered. If you had a gun with a suppressor, it would be a different story. If you have any questions about weapons or equipment, you should ask our military analyst, Nastasha. Her frequency is 141.52." The connection was killed.   
  
Snake decided to find out more about his newly acquired weapon, and he dialed the frequency told to him by Colonel Campbell. When the screen came up, a woman, blond bowl haircut, warm brown eyes, slender nose, and collared shirt filled it. He recognized the face from the briefing.  
  
"This is Nastasha Romanenko," she greeted. "A pleasure to work with you, Solid Snake."  
  
"You're the nuclear specialist that the colonel mentioned?" Snake inquired.  
  
"That's me," Romanenko nodded. "You can ask me anything about nukes that you want. I am also a military analyst, so I have an extensive knowledge of weapons systems as well. They asked me to participate in this operation as a supervisor from the Nuclear Emergency Search Team. I was happy to accept."  
  
Snake knew about NEST. They were miracle workers. NEST, formed in the 1970s and made up of volunteer scientists from various governmental agencies, was designed to find "dirty," or homemade, nuclear bombs in major metropolitan area and diffuse them before they detonated. Fortunately, they didn't need to be actually brought up for an actual operation ever since their beginning, which was reassuring to the commando.  
  
Nastasha's face softened. "We must not allow terrorists to get their hands on nuclear weapons of any kind. I hope I can help you to stop them."  
  
Snake stared, his poker face on. "You're a tough lady."  
  
The analyst's face hardened. "Those terrorists are serious about launching a nuclear weapon?! The world cannot stand by idly and allow that to happen, and neither can I..." Her face fell considerably. "Unfortunately, all I can do from here is provide you with information."  
  
Snake's poker face broke through with the specter of a smile. "Hopefully that'll be enough. Another soldier here wouldn't make a difference, anyway. It's good to work with you, Nastasha."  
  
She replied in a sultry tone, "Same here, Snake."  
  
"Well, as your first action of the night," Snake started, placing the HK pistol on the catwalk and holding the Codec screen over the gun, "you can tell me what this weapon is."  
  
"Harasho!" Romanenko said in Ukrainian-accented Russian. "Good! You found a SOCOM. That's a Special Operations Command pistol. It's a .45cal pistol with plenty of stopping power. It's also equipped with a LAM for nighttime combat. If you find a SOCOM suppressor, you can equip that, too. That pistol was designed specifically for use by special forces, so I think it will be useful. Some people find it a little heavy and hard to use, but it shouldn't be a problem for you."  
  
"Thanks, Nastasha," Snake said, killing the line. Hefting the pistol, the commando found out what the analyst meant by "heavy." It weighed about five pounds: almost as heavy as a submachine gun. He figured that a lot of it was the large rectangular box he took to be the LAM, or Laser Aiming Module. Shrugging it off, the FOX-HOUND commando holstered the gun again, and walked, his footsteps resounding every time he stepped. Halfway across a particularly long strip of catwalk, Snake stopped again, phoning Master Miller.  
  
"Yes, Snake?" he said.  
  
"Master, I step on this floor and my footsteps are amplified. Why is that?" Snake inquired.  
  
"Snake," Master started, getting a look at the floor through the Codec, "that floor is designed so that your footsteps echo. Listen, Snake. There's a way to walk so your footsteps won't be heard. I call it stalking.' Here's how you do it. First, put your weight on the opposite foot that you're going to step with. Then, take a step so that your heel makes contact with the ground first. Then, as you slowly lower the tip of your foot to the floor, gradually shift your weight onto that foot. Use your knees to maintain the subtle balance. Try it."  
  
Snake tried it, but the sneaking suit restrained on him too much. He fell, but landed in such a manner that no one heard him land. "I...I can't do it," Snake growled angrily. The FOX-HOUND veteran hated not succeeding in his endeavors.  
  
Miller shrugged. "Another way is to wear your socks over your shoes. If you crawl on your stomach, you won't make any noise either..." The line was killed, and Snake stayed on the ground, beginning to crawl.  
  
Solid Snake continued crawling, taking him three minutes to the next patch of floor he could walk on without making a ruckus. Peering around the corner, Snake saw another surveillance camera. Watching the downstairs to make sure it was clear, Snake pulled one of the cylinder-like grenades he had ID'd earlier as chaff grenades. Slowly, with his fingers, he pulled the pin, and rolled it away from him. Five seconds later, it went off, but surprisingly, it was too soft for the guards to detect. Taking advantage, Snake rushed across the floor and down the stairs, hiding alongside an M1 Abrahms battle tank, painted a very dark green. Watching his radar, the FOX-HOUND commando saw the guard go in a pattern around the tank. He had a plan to take him out.  
  
The sentry walked up the right side of the tank, stopping, his hair standing up on end. Cautiously, he flicked the safety off of his FAMAS to semi-auto. Looking around, he kept on walking up the top side of the tank, stopping at the corner connecting the left side and the top side.   
  
The grunt thought he heard something move. Turning around, rifle pointed, he was greeted by...good old oxygen and carbon dioxide. Sighing, dismissing it as paranoia, the NGSF solider flicked the safety back on, and began to walk again.  
  
Two seconds later, he couldn't breathe.  
  
Solid Snake violently shoved the head of the guard forward, resulting in the trademark crunch. Tucking the guard underneath the tank, he left the FAMAS there, as a deception of rest just in case a guard found the corpse underneath the tank. Going to the elevator, he pressed the down button and drew his pistol, pointing it at the door. The two heavy metal doors slid open, leaving Snake relieved, since he didn't have a suppressor yet. Stepping inside, he pressed the B1 button and rested.   
  
Seventeen hours and six minutes until doomsday. 


	5. DARPA Chief

The elevator doors opened quickly, making a clash sound when the doors retracted fully, slamming into the barrier that kept the doors from continuing their retraction. Inside the elevator, Solid Snake pointed his newly acquired SOCOM pistol into the hallway, no one meeting his silent challenge.  
  
The hallways were clear, devoid of sentries. The floor was concrete, as well as the walls, both of them a shade of gray. To his right was a door that read "6." Not knowing what that meant, and also because the contents of that room weren't appearing on the radar, Snake ignored the room and continued straight.  
  
Holstering the pistol, Snake glanced at his radar wristwatch. There were two cells and an office, from the blueprints. Inside one cell was a dot, and in the other one...it was filled green. A single sentry was there, which made it easier for him: if they had sprung for two, killing both of them without being detected would be hard.  
  
The Codec rang, and Snake moved to the Codec screen, pressing the transmitter. Mei Ling's pretty face filled the screen. "Look at the radar!" she said. "It's picking up the DARPA Chief! He's the green dot. Hurry and rescue him."  
  
"Exactly what I intended on doing," Snake stated, right before hanging up.   
  
The door to the cell had the number "1" on it. When Snake looked for an opening, he found out there wasn't one. Figuring out that going in the front door wasn't an option, he started walking down the hallway. The FOX-HOUND agent knew his way in now.  
  
The first floor basement ventilation shaft.  
  
Hanging a left at the end of the hallway, Snake found a ladder that lead up...into the vent shaft. Smiling, Snake scaled the ten foot ladder and began to crawl into the shaft, getting into the prone position and starting to crawl, thinking, In the shafts again, with a slight smile.  
  
Crawling along inside the dark, damp vent, the FOX-HOUND commando kept his senses alert, finely attuned to any noise that could be made. A few coughs generated from his nine o'clock position, so he crawled into that specific passageway, coming upon a guard, pants down, urinating on a toilet. Hoping that the man would forget about operational security, Snake tolerated the half-naked man and listened in.  
  
"Uhh," the NGSF solider said, a nasal tone in his voice. "Caught a damned cold...I hate Alaska." Leaning back as he began to finish his urination, he said, with a considerable amount of pleasure in his voice, "Boy, oh, boy...that woman is built, right." A slight chuckle, then he stood up, pulled up his pants, zipped his fly, and walked over to the sink, washing his hands quickly, picked up his FAMAS rifle, and went back to guard duty.  
  
Crawling back, he thought, Who the hell is that woman? He kept on crawling on his original route, taking a left turn, finding squares of light in two places. Coming right below the first one, he looked in. A person, dressed in a black tanktop, olive drab BDU trousers, black combat boots, knee pads, and long fingerless gloves, was doing sit ups on their bed. Analyzing the person's body frame and hearing their tone when they grunted, Snake thought, Is that a woman...? Not him...Snake assumed that this was the woman everyone was talking about, and made a future reference to her.  
  
Crawling to the second vent, Snake peeked down, seeing a man, African American, with a full head of black hair, powerfully built frame, white shirt, black slacks, and red based tie with green polka dots on it sitting on the bed, looking distraught. Remembering the photo from the briefing, he recognized Donald Anderson, chief of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency.   
  
Knowing shooting out the vent screen would cause a ruckus, Snake got to it by hand, unscrewing the screen out, corner by corner. The first half got off, and the commando started to tug at it, making a noise. At first, Anderson dismissed it as rats in the ventilation system, but when the noise became more persistent, the DARPA chief looked up and asked, "Wh-wh-who's that?"  
  
Finally getting the screen out, Snake set it further ahead in the vent, planted his hands on the edge of the vent, and slithered into the hole head first, slowly but surely hanging with his hands facing backward, and Snake hanging a few feet in the air. After making sure he'd land in a place with no noise making material, synthetic or otherwise, the commando landed, crouched as not to lose his balance.   
  
Slowly rising, Snake looked the black man in the eye. "I'm here to save you," the FOX-HOUND agent announced. "You're the DARPA chief, Donald Anderson, right?"  
  
"You're here to save me, huh?" Anderson said, his deep voice resonating throughout the whole cell, taking a step back as if prepared to run somewhere. "What's your outfit?"  
  
Solid Snake held up his hands to signal that he had no weapons out, and he had no intention of harming Anderson. "I'm the pawn they sent here to save your worthless butt," Snake stated in his usual politically incorrect manner.  
  
Donald looked Snake in the eye skeptically, not believing a word of it, but a ray of hope was starting to break through. "Really?" Looking over the commando's battle garb, he took a seat. "It's true." Taking a look at Snake, he stated, "You don't look like one of them. In that case, hurry up and get me out of here..."  
  
"Slow down," Snake said, a bit gentler than ten seconds earlier. "Don't worry. First I want some information...about the terrorists."  
  
"The terrorists?"  
  
"Do they really have the ability to launch a nuke?"  
  
"What are you talking about?!"  
  
He doesn't know about the demands? Snake thought. Something weird's going on... "The terrorists are threatening the White House. They say if they don't accede to their demands, they'll launch a nuclear weapon."  
  
Anderson dropped his head in shock. "Sweet Jesus..." he murmured, the burden weighing more on him in addition to everything else that happened so far.  
  
"Is it possible?" Snake demanded, an edge in his voice sharper than a samurai's katana.  
  
"It's possible..." Anderson sighed. "They...could launch a nuke."  
  
The woman in the other cell stopped doing her situps, overhearing the DARPA Chief's confession. She had been thinking that taking over the base had no value. After all, all the people here were expendable, even the DARPA Chief. She was sure she'd die in a bombing run on the base. Hell, mobilize Delta Force, SEAL Team Six, Marine Force Reconnaissance Platoons, which was her former branch, and the Army Special Forces Groups, and she was sure they could take the base back.   
  
But the threat of nuclear weapons changed everything.  
  
That was a whole new game there.  
  
Listening closer, the female Marine heard a throaty voice, one of experience, ask Anderson, "How do they plan to launch? I thought this place was just for keeping the dismantled warheads. They shouldn't have access to a missile."  
  
Anderson looked the commando in the eyes with a penetrating stare. "What I'm about to tell you is classified information, okay?" The DARPA chief stood up and walked another way, his back to Snake's.  
  
"We were conducting exercises with new type of experimental weapon," Anderson admitted. "A weapon that will change the world."  
  
Snake had heard those words before. "What?" he said, suddenly spinning his head sideways to face Anderson out of the corner of his left eye.  
  
Donald continued. "A weapon with the ability to launch a nuclear attack from any place on the face of the Earth. A nuclear equipped walking battle tank."  
  
Snake's face was masked with horror. It was all too familiar. He thought that the nightmares were supposed to stop. He had told himself that the nightmares had stopped, and that he would never again have to confront the only thing that would actually scare the legendary Solid Snake.  
  
"Metal Gear?!" Snake whispered. "It can't be!!"  
  
He remembered a primitive model back in 1995. Big Boss was piloting it that time around. Machine guns, lasers, and nuclear missile launchers. Then a rookie, Solid Snake became the first and only person ever to take down the weapon of great magnitude.Big Boss' words still reverberated through his dreams: "You have gone too far, Snake! TOO FAR!!!"  
  
"You knew?!" Anderson almost yelled. "Metal Gear is one of the most secret black projects! How did you know that?!"  
  
Snake calmed down a bit, not wanting to cause a panic that might attract unwanted attention. "We had a couple of run-ins in the past," he said off-handedly. "So that's the reason you were here at this disposal site?"  
  
Donald chuckled a bit. "Why else why I come to a God-forsaken place like this?"  
  
"I had heard that the Metal Gear project was scrapped..." Snake murmured, almost to himself. That was thanks to his few friends in SpecWar. Being a smart guy, Snake made sure that he had some friends in high places to give him information when needed. Any news on Metal Gear was welcome, and when he heard that the MG project was being deep-sixed, the FOX-HOUND agent actually had a decent night's worth of rest, without nightmares.  
  
"On the contrary," the DARPA Chief replied, "it's grown into a huge joint project between ArmsTech and ourselves. We were going to use this exercise as raw data, and then proceed to mass production."  
  
The chief turned to face the agent in the face. Raising his arms, he moaned, "If it hadn't been for the revolution..."  
  
"Revolution?"  
  
Turning his back on Snake again, he muttered, "REX has fallen into the hands of terrorists..."  
  
"REX?"  
  
"Metal Gear REX. The code name for the new Metal Gear prototype."  
  
To the right of the woman's cell, the Genome Soldier that Snake had caught relieving himself stirred from some sleep, hearing the DARPA Chief ranting and raving. He had heard some rumors about an intruder, but didn't believe them. Just in case, he loaded a 5.56mm slug into his rifle and flicked off the safety. After making sure he was ready to rock and roll, the NGSF soldier slowly and quietly started moving toward the cell.  
  
"They've probably already finished arming the warhead they plan to use with REX," Anderson admitted. "These guys are pros. They're all experienced in handling and equipping weapons."  
  
Snake nodded, something on the Soliton Radar screen catching his attention...  
  
There was a loud bang on the door, and the mask clad guard leered into the cell. There was nobody, as he suspected. "Hey!" he yelled. "Shut up in there, willya?!"  
  
Anderson walked to the door and waved off the guard. The Genome seemed to understand, and began to walk back to his spot. Against the right wall, Snake breathed a sigh of relief, glad his eyes hadn't dulled over the years. Coming off the wall, the agent stated, "But I thought all nuclear warheads were equipped with safety measures...some kind of detonation code you have to input."  
  
Turning around, the DARPA Chief looked at his savior and answered, "Oh, you mean PAL. Yes, of course, there is a PAL. It's set up so that you need to input two different passwords in order to launch the device."  
  
Snake knew from the briefing that PAL meant Permissive Action Link. "There are two passwords?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," Donald confirmed. "Baker knows one, and I know one."  
  
"Baker? The President of ArmsTech?"  
  
"That's right. Both of us need to input our password or there can be no launch. But..."  
  
Snake looked on, dissecting the chief with his lifeless, cold, green eyes.  
  
"They found out my password!"  
  
The commando made no effort to conceal the disgust in his face or his tone. "You talked?"  
  
Anderson turned around, tapping his temple. "Psycho Mantis can read people's minds. You can't resist!"  
  
"Psycho Mantis?" Snake declared, remembering the name from the briefing, and not liking the dossier he had read with it.  
  
"One of the members of FOX-HOUND," Anderson said, not knowing the commando already knew that. "He has psychic powers."  
  
"This is bad..." Snake confessed to himself.  
  
Listening through the wall, the Marine lady heard Anderson say in a distraught voice, "It's just a matter of time before they get Baker's too."  
  
Back in the cell, the warrior looked on, staring at the cell door, not wanting to believe what he had just heard. "If they find out Baker's password..." Snake muttered, mostly to himself.  
  
"Yes," Anderson completed the thought, overhearing Snake's murmuring. "They'll be able to launch a nuke anytime. But...there is a way to stop the launch."  
  
Solid Snake turned around at that news, looking into the eyes of Donald Anderson for good news. "What?"  
  
"The card keys." Anderson had a slight smirk, as if knowing something the terrorists didn't know. Snake wasn't sure about that, but he was sure that the chief knew something he didn't know.  
  
"Card keys?" Snake asked, with a cocked eyebrow.  
  
"They were designed by ArmsTech, the system developers, as an emergency override," Anderson explained. "Even without the passwords, you just insert the card keys and engage the safety lock."  
  
"And if I do that?" Snake asked, finding his new mission objective.  
  
"Yes," Donald answered. "You can stop the launch."  
  
The Marine lady took a knee on her cot, which happened to be hard as hell and half as sturdy, thinking, That card key...?  
  
"So where are the keys?" Snake asked.  
  
"Baker should have them. Listen. You need three card keys. There are three different slots to put them in. You need to insert a card into each one of them."  
  
"Okay. Three card keys." Snake walked over to the DARPA chief, who was sitting down on his hard cot. "Do you know where they might be keeping Baker?"  
  
"Somewhere in the second floor basement," Donald responded.  
  
"Second floor basement?" Snake wondered aloud. Why not keep him in another cell? the commando thought.  
  
"I heard the guard say they moved him to an area that has a lot of electronic jamming," Anderson conceded.   
  
"Any other clues?" Snake grilled.  
  
"Yes. They cemented over the entrances, but didn't have enough time to paint them. Why don't you look for the areas where the walls are a different color?" Donald stood up suddenly, reaching into his shirt's breast pocket.  
  
"Here, take this. It's my ID card. It will open any Level 1 security door. It's called a PAN card. It works with your body's own electrical field."  
  
"Personal Area Network, huh?" Snake guessed.  
  
Not answering the question, Anderson continued. "It transmits data using the salts in your body as the transmission medium. As you approach the door's security devices, they'll read the data stored in the card."  
  
"And the doors will open automatically," Snake said, finishing the sentence. "Gotcha." Pocketing the card in his Sneaking Suit, the warrior looked on to the chief. "Okay. I'm gonna get you out of here."  
  
Snake took a step forward, stopped suddenly by Anderson's dark hand. "Wait a minute."  
  
The FOX-HOUND commando couldn't believe this. The frickin' old man couldn't wait to get out five minutes ago. Now he wanted to wait around for something? "What is it?" he asked, slight annoyance breaking through in his voice.  
  
"You...haven't heard any other way to disarm the PAL have you, from your bosses or anyone?"  
  
"No," Snake answered. He noticed that the DARPA Chief was starting to shake slightly.  
  
Donald Anderson took another step forward. "Are you sure you haven't heard anything?"  
  
What the hell is this? "I just said no."  
  
The shaking increased, and Snake began to worry a little. "So, does the White House plan to give into the terrorists' demands?" Anderson asked.  
  
"That's their problem," the warrior spat. "It has nothing to do with my orders."  
  
The shaking was starting to become uncontrollable now. "But...what about the Pentagon?" Donald asked, his voice shaky.  
  
"The Pentagon?" Snake asked, puzzled, wondering what the hell they had to do with the terrorists' demands.  
  
Suddenly, the chief grabbed his chest and screamed to heaven. Clawing at his chest, the DARPA Chief felt a sudden sharpe stab of pain in his heart region.  
  
"What is it?!" Snake demanded.  
  
"Whyyyyyyyy?!?!?!" he screamed, his hands moving frantically over the left side of his chest. The pain was steadily growing in his chest, getting stronger and stronger with every second passing.  
  
The Marine lady in the other cell got up from the wall, almost collapsing her cot, and ran to the door, wondering, What's that?! As she heard the blood curling shrieks get louder, she walked to the door, slamming her fist repeatedly into the metal cell door, yelling, "Hey! What happened?!"  
  
The chief stopped grabbing at his chest, and the whole room seemed to fill with his frantic heartbeat. Anderson started leaning in for Snake, trying to stop himself from falling. Snake, not knowing what to do, since he had never seen a man die in front of his eyes in this manner, grabbed the yelling DARPA Chief and took a step back. The chief lost his grip and fell all the way to the cold, moldy, disgustingly yellow tile floor, his head hitting the floor with a thump. His bowels were released, and Donald Anderson ceased to scream further.  
  
Taking a knee next to the chief, Snake felt his neck, sensing no pulse in the man. Taking a knee, he muttered, "Hmmm...dead..." He had no idea what had just happened, since he wasn't a medical expert. The FOX-HOUND agent, however, did know someone who could diagnose the condition, and he activated his Codec, bringing up Dr. Naomi Hunter.  
  
"Naomi!!" he barked. "The chief!! What happened?!"  
  
"I...I don't know," she stammered, obviously shaken from the radar she had seen. The dot had flashed repeatedly during the screaming, and then...just blinked out. "It looked like a heart attack, but-"  
  
The colonel cut her off, appearing on screen. "A heart attack?" he asked. Campbell hung his head, sighed, and said, "No."  
  
Colonel Campbell seemed way too calm and composed about it. It was as if he knew something was going on, and that really pissed off Snake. "Colonel, are you hiding something from me?"  
  
"Absolutely not," Campbell said instantly. "Snake, you've got to understand: this op is security level Red. You need the highest security clearance to get access to the complete file."  
  
There was a technical term for what was leaving Campbell's lips and entering Snake's ears. That term was: bullshit. His voice started out as a low growl, and ended in yelling. "You want me to believe that you're in charge of this op, but you don't even have complete access to the file?!"  
  
"I told you," Roy insisted, "the Secretary of Defense is in operational control. I'm just here as your support..."  
  
If looks could kill, Colonel Roy Campbell would be a dead man, because in Snake's eyes was the glare, the intent to murder. The operation was already becoming one huge clusterfuck, and he wasn't even a full hour into the ground part of the operation. That was not good news.  
  
"Snake," Campbell announced, "we don't have time to debate. Get out of there and find President Baker!" With that, the line was killed.  
  
Sixteen hours and fifty minutes until doomsday. 


	6. Prison Firefight

Solid Snake stood up over the corpse of the DARPA Chief. He had failed his mission. That was unprecedented. He had never failed a mission before, and never intended on doing so. A weird feeling overcame Snake as he thought about his failure. Even though the warrior knew that it wasn't his fault, that it was a thing of nature, he still blamed himself. Hoping that God would watch over a man who spent his final hours in Hell on Earth, Snake stood up, and jumped on the cot, feeling it come out from underneath him. The agent hit his head quite hard, but less than a second later, Snake was in a kneeling position, SOCOM out and ready to meet the guard when he came to investigate.  
  
That's when he heard the scuffling noise.  
  
The FOX-HOUND agent knew that noise. Clothes rolling across the floor, the pummeling sound of a punch, then...something snapped, and a groan was announced. Flicking off the safety and thumbing back the hammer, Snake pointed to the door, waiting to see what was going to happen. The sound of keys rattling reached the veteran's ears, then the sound of a lock being undone. Five seconds later, footsteps were heard, and the cell door slid open. No one was there to greet him.   
  
Feeling relieved, he dropped his SOCOM magazine and jerked back the action, sending the one round in the chamber flying to the left cell wall. Snake picked up, put it back into the magazine, loaded the clip, and put the round in the chamber. You never walked around with the hammer back, since it could go off with a good bump. Safing his weapon, he holstered it and took a careful step out of the room.  
  
The room was gray, like the hallway, with a cubicle, iMac computer, chair, and bathroom. Everything was monotone, with the lights being the only thing that wasn't gray. The temperature was about sixty, warm enough to wear regular BDUs, but cold enough to take a bit of notice. Looking over, the room was clear except-  
  
Holy shit! Snake thought, a mental alarm going off, telling him something was seriously wrong. The Genome who was guarding the cells was naked, slumped over, with repeated pummeling all over his body. The guard was going to be out for a while...so the person who unlocked his cell must have been-  
  
"DON'T MOVE!" a voice, female, barked, as Snake heard the clicking of a rifle moving. He felt the cold barrel against his jawbone, right below his ear. Letting off a small chuckle, he knew he had been caught, pants down, and was being screwed up the ass by Mr. Murphy of Murphy's Law fame.   
  
Snake didn't like it one single bit.  
  
The woman was about a half foot shorter than him, wearing the olive drab fatigues of the NGSF. Her Load Bearing Equipment was black, as were her gloves, balaclava, and combat boots. The gun was being held a bit shakily against his cheek still. It was a hairy situation.  
  
The FOX-HOUND commando had seen worse.  
  
The woman Genome looked into the cell, seeing Donald Anderson's corpse. Looking back to her hostage, she said, "So, you killed the chief...you bastard!"  
  
The commando deemed it safe to start psychological operations. Turning slowly, knowing that a sudden move would get him shot, he faced the woman, towering over her, a presence filling her world. She shook at the sight of his craggy, experienced face.  
  
"Liquid?!" she exclaimed, referring to the terrorist leader. "No..." she realized, "you're not..."  
  
Snake took a sudden move backwards, just to test how much of a rookie this woman was. She followed his movements, but didn't shoot. A true professional would have shot Snake on the spot, and the mission would have been over. Instead, the words "Don't move!" were spat out instead. Her FAMAS was shaking a lot worse now.   
  
The FOX-HOUND agent had her right where he wanted her.  
  
"Is this the first time you've ever pointed a gun at a person?" Snake sneered, almost taunted. "Your hands are shaking."  
  
She gasped, getting more nervous by the second.  
  
That's when Solid Snake made his move.  
  
Quicker than her gun could follow, the warrior reached into his 3005 Special Operations Tactical Holster, grabbed the SOCOM's handle, flicked the safety off, and trained the gun on her head, thumbing back the hammer. She was obviously unprepared for the move, and just stood there, staring on.  
  
"Can you shoot me, rookie?" Snake asked, exploiting her weakness.  
  
"Careful, I'm no rookie!" she exclaimed, not even sure of herself.  
  
"Liar!" Snake spat. "That nervous glance...that scared look in your eyes...they're rookie's eyes if I ever saw them. You've never shot a person, am I right?"  
  
"You talk too much," the NGSF woman growled.  
  
Snake let his eye wander for a second over her gun, then informed her, "You haven't even taken the safety off, rookie." The agent added emphasis on the last word for psychological effect.  
  
"I told you, I'm no rookie!!" she exclaimed, the PsyOps getting to her, making her more nervous.  
  
"You're not one of them, are you?" Snake asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
Outside the cell door, three men waited in a classic counterterrorist room-entry position: two men on one side, one man on the other. It was used to all points would be covered when entering the room, and to ensure all hostiles would be eliminated.  
  
They dressed in black Nomex coveralls, with Kevlar helmets, balaclavas, Point Blank Level IIIA body armor, fingerless gloves, elbow and knee pads, and combat boots. The trio carried the standard FAMAS rifle, but the magazines were loaded with armor piercing 5.56mm rounds, which would penetrate Level II body armor with one shot, and Levels III and IIIA with just a few more. The same went for their SOCOMs.   
  
The guards looked at each other, knowing they had done this so many times before, and knew they could pull off the job. Nodding at each other, the grunts gave each other thumbs up.  
  
Inside the cell, the woman jerked her head toward the door. "Open that door!" she ordered. "You have a card, don't you?"  
  
"Why?" Snake asked, scoffing at her.  
  
The irritation was building up. "So we can get the hell out of here!!"  
  
Outside the door, the team leader gave the go signal, removed his PAN card, and slid the door open, the three Genomes pointing their rifles and seeing the weird scene, temporarily stopping them.  
  
"Looks like we'll be a little delayed," Snake said, stepping behind the woman. When she didn't start shooting, he barked, "What are you doing?! Don't think! Shoot!!"  
  
The Genomes began to fire. Grabbing the woman by the hand, he rushed her into the cubicle, lying down to avoid fire. The glass above them shattered and rained on top of the couple. The woman screamed, and Snake grabbed the FAMAS, popping from cover to fire. He squeezed the trigger, and got click. Swiftly he got back down and threw the rifle to the woman.  
  
"Unjam that rifle, now!" he ordered, drawing his SOCOM. The Codec went off in his ear, and he answered it.  
  
"Snake, we saw those hostiles," Colonel Campbell said. "You weren't moving when our radar got jammed. What are you doing? Take care of the bad guys and get the hell out of there! You better use that weapon you found!"  
  
Not having time to chat, Snake slammed his fingers into the transmitter, hanging up quickly. A small plan formulated in his mind, and a few seconds later, he knew how to dispatch of the guards. Getting the pistol ready, Snake rolled from underneath the desk and sprung through the remains of the window, squeezing off two rounds at the furthest guard, nailing him underneath his Kevlar helmet, downing him.  
  
The commando rolled and got up, grabbing the guard closest to him and positioning the Genome in front of the soldier. The other Genome sprayed five rounds, making one hit the body armor, which was nonlethal, although it was extremely excruciating. The second NGSF tried to fire again, but found his FAMAS to be empty.   
  
Pointing his SOCOM, he put a round underneath the Kevlar of that guard, too, spraying his brains all over the wall, then, in the same motion, knocked the Kevlar off of the Genome he was holding hostage, slammed the HK pistol into his skull, and shot off a round, splattering the mixture of blood and brains all over his face.   
  
Wiping the mixture off of his face like it was sweat, the FOX-HOUND agent got back behind cover, seeing that the woman had done nothing with her rifle, which was expected. Snatching it from her, he pointed it toward the sky, unloaded everything, slapped it a few times, and handed it back. "What are you waiting for?!" Snake yelled. "SHOOT!!"  
  
"DON'T TALK TO ME LIKE A ROOKIE!!" she shot back.  
  
As three more Genomes came into the room, shocked at the murders of their battle buddies, Snake grabbed the NGSF woman by her arms, jerked her up, slammed the rifle in her hand, and said, "I'm telling you, SHOOT!!"  
  
She let out an otherworldly scream and pulled the trigger, scoring her first blood. She sprayed until her twenty-five round magazine was empty, having added three more to the terrorist body count. Hearing three clips, the NGSF soldier dropped her magazine and fed a fresh one in, working the action.  
  
Three more came in, and the SOCOM barked twice, hitting a guard square in the head. The woman squeezed off a three round burst, quickly learning fire discipline. She hit a man in the chest, but since her rounds weren't armor piercing, they had no effect.  
  
"Aim for the head!" Snake growled, putting another NGSF soldier down, dropping his empty magazine, and feeding a fresh, twelve round box into the pistol.   
  
The female soldier nodded, raising her rifle a bit higher and putting a three round burst into the man's throat, making the man cough up blood frantically as he went to his death. Training her rifle on the last man, she put five rounds in him, stitching him from neck to forehead, absolutely disfiguring his face.  
  
Another round came in, and Snake proved he was still the man, rapidly pulling the trigger, splattering the center of thought all over the gray walls, giving them a gorier decor than before. He knew that he was out of ammo again, so he reloaded and put a round in the chamber.  
  
A clicking noise was heard, and three little balls were thrown into the pile of corpses. Snake instantly recognized what they were, slammed the woman to the ground, pushing her under the desk, and yelled, "Grenade!"  
  
The M67 fragmentation grenade was a room trasher. Throw one into a room, and most people inside the four walls would be headed six feet under. Multiply that by three, and Snake would later be surprised he even survived.  
  
The grenades exploded, spraying body parts all over the cell. The head of a Genome landed right in front of Snake, and he kicked it away, watching it hit an arm. A leg next to him rolled, and it gave Snake an idea.  
  
"Fire when I say go," he whispered, grabbing the leg.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
Ignoring her, the commando leapt to his feet, taking both hands, and chucking the leg at the guards. It hit one square in the head, and the other terrorist response team members were shocked, seeing the leg being used as a weapon.  
  
"GO!" Snake snarled.  
  
The female NGSF leapt to her feet, spraying full auto, hitting every single man in the head or throat, spraying blood and brains, among other things, in the doorway. Both of the defenders stood, weapons out, waiting for more intruders. When none came, they breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
Snake took a look at the room. There wasn't a spot that wasn't covered in blood, brains, or a body part. It looked like a scene from a Stephen King or Thomas Harris novel. The room now smelled of burnt flesh, thanks to the three M67s, and Snake wanted to empty the contents of his stomach. Holding back his stomach acid, he began to find the intact soldiers and grope them for magazines. The commando could breathe easy for a moment.  
  
The firefight was over.  
  
Sixteen hours and forty five minutes until doomsday. 


	7. Investigations and Skirt Chasing

The Female NGSF soldier walked out into the hallway, looking around for any more response team members, FAMAS rifle braced against her shoulder at the ready position. She scanned the hallway like a professional, eyes moving in an arc from left to right, the FAMAS' barrel following the path her once nervous eyes followed. Giving herself a small nod, she turned around to face the warrior, who had just finished taking a SOCOM clip off of a guard, having stocked his web gear. Snake holstered his pistol and looked the woman in the eye, her once innocent emerald eyes now having the hardness of a seasoned veteran.  
  
"Thanks for the help," she said, with an air of superiority, turning toward the elevator and running at full speed.  
  
Snake sprinted after her, skidding a bit on the way out of the door, yelling, "Wait!" He watched her full, rounded ass move from side to side noticeably, in the manner that most slim women's asses do. Tearing his mind off of her amazing butt, he looked on as the elevator doors opened. "Who are you?!"  
  
* * *  
  
Three hours earlier, on the same floor, three men gathered in the "6" door that Snake had bypassed earlier. A man was strapped to an electric bed, face burned from the torture, body limp and unresponsive. The three men all wore trenchcoats, as it was cold and the coats were warm. The man on the left looked a bit like Clint Eastwood, except that his hair was long, white, and flowing. The man on the right wore a standard issue gas mask, hiding his facial features. The middle man, who appeared to be the leader, as the other two men were facing him, had a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and long, flowing blond hair.  
  
"You fool!" the leader exclaimed to the left man, his anger augmented by his British accent. "You've killed him!!"  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," the left man said in his growling voice, not too high pitched, or two low, but a bit neutral.  
  
The gas mask man spoke. "His mental shielding was very strong," he admitted. "I could not dive into his mind."  
  
The blond looked away in disgust. "Now we'll never get that detonation code..."  
  
The gas mask man looked up, speaking with a bit of joy in his voice. "Boss, I have a good idea."  
  
The blond looked at the gas mask man, and the beginnings of a smile started creeping its way across his face.  
  
* * *  
  
Back in the present, the woman made it to the elevator, trying to make it to the panel. Snake turned up the speed, realizing that unless he hurried, he would lose her, and any intelligence she might carry would be lost. The woman spun around, and Snake's experienced eyes already knew what was going to happen before it registered in his brain.  
  
The FOX-HOUND commando's legs sprung into action, flinging him from the middle of the hallway as the NGSF female opened fire with her FAMAS. Snake grunted as he slammed his back against the wall, hand already snaking for his SOCOM. He changed his mind, however, when she didn't adjust fire. The FOX-HOUND agent realized that she was only laying down suppressive fire, trying to keep him away.   
  
"Damn..." Snake growled to himself, angry that a rookie was keeping him away.  
  
It worked, as she exhausted her twenty-five round magazine, pumped her fist in victory, and the doors slammed shut. Snake took a breath of air, looking around to see if any guards had heard the ruckus. Then, the hallway lost its color, become one large grayscale. A man, wearing a trenchcoat, with a standard issue gas mask on his face, floated in midair, in front of the elevator. His palms were upturned, like a psychic's, and his breathing regular.  
  
"Good girl," he breathed. "Just like that..." Then, just as he appeared, he disappeared, and the room returned to living color. Snake rubbed his forehead, thinking that the assignment was really getting to him. Knowing who to ask about what was going on with his body, he dialed the colonel's frequency.  
  
"Colonel," Snake said into the Codec, "get me Naomi."  
  
Naomi's smooth face flashed into the screen. "What is it, Snake?"  
  
"Naomi," Snake started, "I just had some type of hallucination. Is it from the nanomachines?"  
  
"No, Snake," Naomi responded. "The nanomachines are functioning properly."  
  
"So what was it?"  
  
The good doctor furrowed her brow, thinking about it, until she replied, "It must have been psychometric interference coming from Psycho Mantis, FOX-HOUND's psychic." Thinking a bit more, she compared, "Think of it as a mental feedback loop."  
  
"So, that was Mantis?" Snake asked rhetorically, before closing the line.  
  
The warrior stood up. He had seen a few doors marked "1" on the tank hangar floor. Now that he had a "1" card, he decided to check out what was in those doors. Walking to the elevator door, Snake pressed the button. He stood around, double checking his pistol, when the elevator opened. Automatically snap-aiming his gun, he confirmed that there was no threat. Stepping inside, he pressed the button marked "1", and looked toward the ceiling as the doors slammed shut.  
  
* * *  
  
The elevator doors opened, and the FOX-HOUND commando peeked from around the panel corner, seeing nothing. Looking on his radar, he spotted a guard looking away from his back. Taking the opportunity to move, Solid Snake sprinted from the elevator to a box five feet away from a tank. Looking to his right, he spotted a door with a huge "1" on the left side. Double checking the radar, he made sure that he had enough time to move. Seeing the guard look to the side, Snake took off, legs carrying him silently but swiftly to the door. Removing the card from his BDU pocket, Snake stepped inside the door as it closed, concealing him from the sentry who was walking toward that door.  
  
The room was hued a bluish-gray, as were all the other rooms, and had the odor of wood about it, the reason being about twenty large crates stacked on top of each other, pushed against the western wall. Ducking quickly behind a crate, Snake hid, hearing snoring. Checking the radar, he saw that there was an enemy, but since the blue cone was not appearing, he must have had his eyes closed.  
  
Looking from his crate, Snake saw a rectangular box next to the NGSF soldier's foot. Slowly, he lowered himself to his stomach, pushing himself with his feet, controlling his breathing. In thirty seconds, Snake lay right next to the sentry's foot. Slowly, he pulled the box from its spot, moving it backwards lightly, as not to make noise, back to his cover.   
  
Readying himself to open the box, he noticed that the boxes were latched shut, and trying to open them would make a large amount of sound, loud enough to wake the sleeping guard. So, setting the box down, Snake crept up behind the guard, who happened to be slightly taller than him. As soon as he was in range, the commando kicked the back of the sentinel's leg, making his leg give out, lowering him to Snake's height. Then, without hesitation, the FOX-HOUND agent slipped his arm around the sentry's neck and pushed violently on the back of his head, snapping yet another guard's neck. Dragging the body, he propped it up so it looked like the guard was still sleeping.   
  
You snooze, you lose, Snake thought to himself, walking back to the box.  
  
Opening it up, he realized that it was worth the trouble: inside the box, set in foam, was a long, hollow tube of metal, about six or seven inches in length, with bafflers inside the hollowed out part of the tube. Pulling it from its case, Snake removed his SOCOM from his holster and screwed on the sound suppressor. It looked brand new, and it fit perfectly on his pistol. Reholstering the pistol, Snake left the room.  
  
Walking back to the elevator, he almost pushed the button to summon it, when he noticed another "1" door he had to pass earlier. Seeing a guard walk past the stairs, Snake up the stairs, moving quickly underneath the surveillance camera. Five seconds later, the camera moved to the right, making safe passage for Snake. Quickly, not noticing the echoing floor, he opened the door, slipping inside as the door closed behind him.  
  
This room was the same color as the rest of the rooms on this floor, and also smelled of wood, except this time, it was slightly less stronger than the last room. Walking around, he inspected the room, looking for useful items, his ears attuned for any threatening sounds.  
  
Exchanging voices counted as threatening.  
  
Hearing two guards exchanging conversation, Snake looked around for someplace to hide, noticing that everything was too open for his liking. As the voices neared, the commando looked out of the corner of his eye, seeing the answer to all his problems at hand.  
  
The door opened, and a guard walked in, the second one standing outside the door. "I'll check out the noise," he insisted. "It came from over here, I think." Looking around, he saw something that he didn't remember seeing there before.  
  
"Huh?" the sentry grunted, walking to the corner of the room. Looking it over, he nodded, calling to the other guard, "It's just a box. It's clear. Return to your positions."  
  
"Yes, sergeant," the other guard replied, walking off. The first sentinel started to leave, then looked back at the cardboard box. Confirming that it was just a box, he ignored his instinct to flip the box and left the room, the door slamming closed behind him.  
  
Solid Snake breathed hard, looking around, noticing the guards were gone. He flipped the cardboard box off of his back, standing up and stretching his arms and legs. The Codec rang in his ear, and he pressed it, wrist facing the corner.  
  
"Snake, what-" Campbell started, before seeing what was in the corner. A grin spread across his face. "What have you got there?" he asked. "A cardboard box?"  
  
The commando smiled a large smile. "Yeah. Remember that trick?"  
  
The colonel beamed at his soldier. "That's the Snake I remember," he announced. "Those poor fools won't know what hit em."  
  
Master Miller broke through at that moment, also seeing the box. "A cardboard box, huh?" he said, also grinning. "Just like Zanzibar."  
  
The smile began to wan, Snake thinking he had showed enough appreciation at his quick thinking. "It saved my skin more than a few times in Outer Heaven, too."  
  
"Getting the maximum use out of ordinary, on-hand objects is the first principle of survival. It's especially important in covert operations," Miller said, reciting part of his training doctrine for when he took trainees out for Survival, Escape, Resistance, Evasion, or SERE, school, which was mandatory for all FOX-HOUND recruits.  
  
"I haven't forgotten what you taught me," Snake informed his former drill sergeant, before closing the line. He was about to leave the room, seeing nothing of value to take with him, when he remembered that he was supposed to report regularly and have Mei Ling record his status. Thinking it a pleasure to talk to Mei Ling, he dialed 140.96.  
  
Mei Ling's beautiful, radiant, young face flashed onto the screen. "What can I do for you, Snake?" she asked softly.  
  
"I'd like for you to save my progress," Snake informed her. "I'm on the second floor of the tank hangar. You have the time, I believe."  
  
"Of course," she nodded, typing it into the computer. As she did, she said, "Snake, remember what DeGaulle said: The graveyards are full of indispensable men.' Snake, you're all alone and surrounded by bad guys. Try to be careful, and avoid getting into a fight whenever you can." As she finished her advice, Mei Ling stopped typing, signifying the finish of the report.  
  
"You're right," Snake admitted, thinking about how closely that statement bordered current SpecWar infiltration tactics. Usually, SpecWar didn't use one man infiltrations, but FOX-HOUND was a step above regular special operations. "Wow, you know all sorts of great quotes, don't you?"  
  
Mei Ling giggled, smiling, then replied, "Well, both my parents are from Guangdong, China, but I was born and raised in America. I've always liked reading literature from both sides...kinda keeps me in touch. I'll share some more quotes with you if you like."  
  
"I'm looking forward to it," Snake said, returning the smile. "But, to tell you the truth, I'd like to learn more about you."  
  
She giggled again, like a little school girl, then answered with, "Well...I'll think about it." Then she cut the line.  
  
Back at the Special Forces Operating Base in Anchorage, Mei Ling smiled, thinking about how she had a legendary warrior making attempts to hit on her, and how she was deflecting it. She looked off into space, thinking about the benefits of having a boyfriend like that, when Colonel Campbell appeared from behind her.  
  
"Don't you think you have some work to do, Mei Ling?" he asked.  
  
Mei Ling was shaken from her daydream. Looking up to Campbell, an embarrassed look on her face, cheeks red from bushing, she said quickly, "Sorry, sir," turning back to the computer.  
  
Campbell started to walk back to the main Codec post, saying to himself, "I thought I told Snake before about skirt-chasing on a mission. What, this is going to be the twentieth time now?"  
  
While Campbell ranted about Snake's libido, the commando was already down the stairs, reaching the elevator. Pressing the button, he summoned it, stepping inside and pressing the "B2" button, watching the doors close around him again.  
  
Sixteen hours and thirty seven minutes until doomsday. 


	8. Plastique

Solid Snake hid to the side of the elevator, SOCOM held in both of his gloved hands, arms dropped in front of his crotch. His sharp ears listened for sound, not picking up a single noise. After confirming that there were no guards in his sight, the FOX-HOUND commando stepped out of the elevator, hearing it shut behind him. Letting himself get as comfortable as alertness would allow, he pulled a Winston from the box inside one of his sneaking suit pockets, putting the lighter to the butt, and lighting up.  
  
Snake took a drag as he put the lighter away, taking in the nicotine. It was a habit that he had picked up as a teenager, as many addicted smokers have in America, and it was one that he really didn't care if it killed him or not. After being shot by the world's best mercenaries, fighting ridiculously skilled super soldiers, and taking out two nuclear equipped walking battle tanks, in addition to jumping out of planes and being shot out of a sub at breakneck speeds, smoking didn't seem like such a bad idea. Completely harmless.  
  
The floor underneath his feet was a strip of the echoing metal floor he had seen on the catwalk in the tank hangar. The rest of the floor in the immediate vicinity of the elevator doors was a dark, mud brown, which led to cracked, gray tile. The color was darker than the rest of the floors he had seen in this complex so far, and the walls looked neglected, with cracks and mildew being the only form of wallpaper anyone would see down there. Snake sniffed the wall out of curiosity, rearing his head back up in disgust. Smelling his cigarette to kill the mildew stench, Snake continued on.  
  
He walked down the first hallway he saw, moving at a leisurely pace, as no sentries were posted. The commando hadn't moved seven feet when the floor gave out underneath him. Automatically, Snake's cigarette dropped out of his mouth, and his hands shot up to the sky, grabbing the edge of the actual floor. The FOX-HOUND agent wriggled for about ten seconds, trying to find his footing, then finally pushed off, propelling himself up and landing on his stomach.  
  
"Damn..." Snake growled, holding onto his abdomen and moving to his feet. He staggered for a second, then continued walking, curious which tiles were trap doors. Then, his Codec went off in his ear.  
  
It was Nastasha. "I was watching the radar feed from Colonel Campbell," she stated. "Was that a trap door?"  
  
"Yeah," Snake grunted. "No big deal."  
  
"The best method to detect the trap doors is to use thermal goggles," Romanenko said. "The goggles will be able to detect the doors as the holes underneath will be colder than the floor. The goggles are very useful, and you will be able to detect Claymore mines with them, also."  
  
Snake nodded. "Good thing I picked up these AN/TVS-7 goggles," he said. "Thanks Nastasha." He killed the line, slipping the headset over his hair, turning them on. Looking in the first hallway, he saw a trap door. The second and third ones were the same story. The fourth row had no trap doors whatsoever. There were no doors in the lower half of the room, either. Forming a plan in his mind, Snake remembered that to go anywhere, he had to use the fourth row, and then move to his destination.  
  
Looking on his radar, the FOX-HOUND agent noticed that there were three rows of rooms, two to each row, making six. Looking at the one closest to him, he read the door sign, "NIKITA," and the level on the door, "3." No good, Snake thought, moving onto the next door. Snake smiled at the electronic door, liking what he saw. The figure "C4" was posted, and a number "1" was slapped underneath it.  
  
Taking off his thermal goggles, Snake confirmed what he saw, and drew his PAN card, opening the door. He stepped inside, seeing several hundred pounds of C4 plastique explosive. A few pounds wouldn't be missed by anyone, and he spread seven pounds of C4 across his suit pockets, welcoming the extra weight.  
  
All right, he thought. We have our means of making doors. Now, just to find the place to make doors.   
  
Walking past the fourth row and back up to the first horizontal hallway, he noticed something. The wall was gray, then abruptly turned dark blue, much like the color of his sneaking suit. It looked as if it was...cemented over!  
  
Pulling a half-pound block of plastique from his pack, Snake set detonation cord and a remote detonator into the putty-like substance, and walked back down the fourth vertical hallway. Detonator in left hand, right hand on the SOCOM's butt, Snake pressed the button. The explosion shook the room, sending cement flying in all directions.  
  
Using his thermal goggles, Solid Snake saw two trap doors in the room. Two boxes of ammunition sat in the corner. Making sure that he had his footing right, the FOX-HOUND agent pulled a magazine out of the box, putting it into one of his magazine pouches. He didn't think that he'd need to be a walking armory just yet. That time would come later.  
  
Slowly walking back out, Snake strolled past the elevator, preparing a quarter pound block of C4 this time. The half pound was too powerful, so Snake's solution for conservation of his hearing and the explosive was to lessen the charge.  
  
Once again, he laced the cement with the explosive, set the det cord and detonator, and blew the charge, the shockwave resulting from this discharge being considerably less than the last one. Stepping into the room, thermal goggles on, Snake collected stun grenades, usually referred to "flash-bangs," and a few more chaff grenades. Other than that, the room was empty.  
  
Snake left the room, searching the walls thoroughly. He had blown the two entrances open in the top half. There were none in the midsection of the room, which Snake assumed to be an armory. At the bottom of the armory, he saw a door, marked "4." No dice, Snake thought. Walking to the end of the room, the FOX-HOUND commando looked at the walls carefully, turning his head all directions, coming face to face with more cement.  
  
Rigging the explosive for the third time, Snake backed away from the demolition zone, depressing his thumb on the detonator again. The wall blew open, and the commando stepped inside, leaving the main armory behind him, entering the zone he dubbed "the armory annex."  
  
The walls were much like the walls on the previous floors. The tile still lined the floor, but it ended suddenly near what appeared to be another blue spot in the wall. The floor had merged into the echoing floor again, and the walls ended also, leaving a huge rock wall at the end of the corridor.  
  
Completion of this hallway must have been cut short, Snake thought, walking to the blue spot, again confirming it to be cement. Thirty seconds later, the FOX-HOUND agent was stepping through a newly made hole in the wall, facing another hallway. This one had all tile floor, two blue spots, one on the western wall and one on the northern wall, and a rock eastern wall. Pulling out another half pound of C4, Snake rigged both cemented entrances, stepped back out of the blast radius, and ignited the charges. Both walls were blown away in a cloud of smoke. Walking to the first hole in the wall, he totally forgot about the other one.  
  
The face matched the one in the briefing. No doubt about it.  
  
Looking around, as if expecting a surprise attack, Snake cautiously stepped into the room, watching his surroundings.  
  
Sixteen hours and thirty minutes until doomsday. 


	9. Revolver Ocelot

Solid Snake took a few more tentative steps into the room, eyes and ears alert. Taking a quick once-over of the room, he looked to the center, confirming what he saw. It was an old man, Caucasian, with gray hair on both sides of his nearly bald head. He wore a finely tailored brown suit, two piece, with a silk tie. A khaki trenchcoat draped over his arms, which wasn't doing much good to keep him warm, especially in the position he was in.  
  
The room was dark, with mildew-covered tile all over the place. In the central area of the room, five pillars stood, reaching to the ceiling. In the very center of the room stood the man, unconscious, and tied to the center pole.  
  
Am I too late? Snake thought, the words escaping from his lips.  
  
Taking a few more steps forward, right hand never straying from the butt of his SOCOM, Snake stopped in front of the man, looking him over. The rope used to tie him up wasn't rope; rather, it was tensile cord, like the type used in trip wire. The man looked dead, and it looked like a trap, a punishment for wasting his time. The FOX-HOUND commando began to tap the receiver to inform Colonel Campbell of the bad news, when a sound startled him.  
  
"Oooooh..." the man groaned, his body starting to shake uncontrollably. "Huuuhhhh..."  
  
"He's alive..." Snake said, his mood lightening considerably. "You're the ArmsTech president, Kenneth Baker, right?" Another groan escaped the old man's mouth, and Snake began to take another step forward. "Don't worry. I'm here to save you." Snake began to reach for the cord to cut Baker down, feeling that something wasn't right. Another groan escaped the man's mouth, and then he found his voice.  
  
"Noooo!" he exclaimed weakly. "No! Don't touch it!"  
  
The commando looked straight above the man's head, seeing a block of plastique explosive, which was connected to one of the wires. Quickly looking over, he noticed that several blocks were planted all over the pillars.  
  
"C4!" Snake growled.  
  
There was a click, one of a hammer being thumbed back. The FOX-HOUND agent froze, then his training took over. There was no time for anything else. The gunshot landed right in front of his feet, but by the time Snake registered that, he was already in the air, seemingly floating backwards. After what seemed an eternity, Solid Snake landed on the floor with a grunt, taking an extra step back.  
  
"Ha!" a voice exclaimed, throaty like Snake's, but a bit higher pitched than his. "Right. Touch that wire, and the C4 will blow up, along with the old man!"  
  
A man stepped from behind a pillar, leveling a revolver toward Snake. He dressed in Western clothes, with a bandolier across his chest. A black armband draped his left arm, and he wore cowboy boots, with spurs. The man looked like Clint Eastwood, with longer white hair and a snow white moustache.  
  
"So, you're the one that the Boss keeps talking about," the cowboy announced, lowering his gun to his side.  
  
"And you?" Snake grunted.  
  
"Special Operations FOX-HOUND," the cowboy exclaimed, starting to spin his gun, seemingly uncontrollably, then bringing it to a stop, the gun pointing toward heaven. "Revolver Ocelot." The gun started to spin again, and he brought it to another brief stop, allowing himself to change direction, and span it around some more, letting it stop again when it was pointing to the sky.   
  
"I've been waiting for you, Solid Snake," he growled softly. Finally, he span the gun another three times, and slammed it into its holster. Oh, great, Snake thought.  
  
I'm fighting a goddamn John Wayne wannabe.  
  
"Now we'll see if the man can live up to the legend!" Ocelot exclaimed, taking a few steps forward as Snake stood up properly. Ocelot drew his gun, caressing the barrel in a sexual manner. "This," he stated, "is the greatest handgun ever made. The Colt Single Action Army." Spinning the gun again, pointing it toward the ceiling, he emptied his shells.  
  
"Six bullets," Ocelot said, bringing his gun down to load new .45cal bullets into the chambers. "More than enough to kill anything that moves." Snapping the chambers back in alignment with the barrel, he spun them in Wild Wild West fashion, and twirled his gun back toward the ceiling.  
  
"Now I'll show you why they call me...Revolver," the cowboy said, spinning his gun back into its holster, and putting his hands to his sides. Snake was not a fan of westerns, but knew enough about them to figure out what was going to happen.  
  
Showdown at High Noon, Snake thought to himself, moving his right foot back, assuming a fighting position, hand on the grip of his SOCOM. There was an eerie silence, and Snake swore he could hear his heart beating in his ears. Each warrior stared into each other's eyes, trying to psych the other man into giving away his move.  
  
The silence was broken. "Draw!" he barked, reaching for his Single Action Army.  
  
Snake, on instinct, drew his SOCOM and squeezed the trigger three times, each one only grazing his target. It had been so long since his last one-on-one battle, and his accuracy showed as such. Running away from Ocelot, narrowly missing being hit with a bullet, Snake dialed Colonel Campbell on his Codec. When fighting one-on-one, he wanted some type of advantage, knowing something about his enemy.  
  
"What is it, Snake?" Campbell asked.  
  
"I'm encountering Revolver Ocelot," he murmured softly. "I want some background information."  
  
"If you've got a question about FOX-HOUND," Campbell said, "ask Dr. Naomi."  
  
Not paying attention to his screen, the FOX-HOUND commando kept moving, trying to keep out of Ocelot's sight long enough to get a short briefing. Naomi's voice filled his ears, giving him a brief dossier.  
  
"Revolver Ocelot is a former member of Spetsnaz," she began. Snake knew that meant trouble. Spetsnaz, or the Russian Special Forces, were some of the deadliest operators in the world. All were trained in hand to hand and assassination techniques, and were rumored to be even better than the English Special Air Service and the US Delta Force.  
  
"After the fall of the Soviet Union," Naomi continued, "he apparently served in the Russian Tax Police's elite SWAT team. After that, he joined the SVR, or the Russian Foreign Intelligence Agency, which was formerly a part of the KGB. But, according to my sources, he was dissatisfied with the rigid system of the KGB, and wanted to get out. That's when he was recruited by FOX-HOUND.  
  
"He's a gun fanatic and totally obsessed with cowboy movies and spaghetti westerns," Dr. Hunter stated.  
  
That explains his John Wayne look, Snake thought.  
  
"He's also something of a sadist. He learned the most advanced torture techniques while he was with Spetsnaz," Naomi concluded.  
  
Hearing footsteps, Snake moved in the opposite direction, staying away from Ocelot. Just a bit longer, and he would be able to go to battle, knowing his enemy.  
  
"Yeah," Campbell added, "he had plenty of practice. The Lubianka Prison is located right there inside KGB headquarters. In a gunfight, reloading is usually the most dangerous time. But he loves it. Use that to your advantage."  
  
Mei Ling's voice filled his ears now. "Snake, I've developed a program to help you with your fight," she announced. "Keep the Codec line open, and we'll be able to hear how many shots he gets off. With that, you can use this monitor."   
  
Quickly looking at the Codec screen, the FOX-HOUND agent noticed that there was no face there. Instead, a bar with six dashes sat inside the screen. All of them were filled. Snake understood what it was immediately.  
  
"Mei Ling," Snake said, "take off one of the bullets. He's shot one off."  
  
"Okay," she said, and the dash farthest to the right disappeared. "We'll hear everything if you keep the line open, and you'll be able to monitor when he reloads and how many bullets he has left."  
  
Colonel Campbell came back on for one more bit of advice: "Wait for the right moment, and then take him out!"  
  
SOCOM grasped in both hands, Snake readied himself to fight. Running around the corner, the commando watched the cowboy round the corner ahead of him. Sprinting at full speed, Snake came around the corner, almost losing his footing on the slick metal of the corner he turned, and began to run again.   
  
Snake kept watching Ocelot, seeing him run around another corner. The FOX-HOUND veteran began to pursue again when Revolver turned around suddenly, pointing the Colt revolver at him. Instinctively, Snake dropped to the deck as a .45cal slug slammed into the wall where his head had been less than a second earlier. Springing back to his feet, he sprung around the corner, training the laser on Ocelot's back.  
  
Without any remorse whatsoever, Snake pulled the trigger three times, nailing him squarely in the back. Ocelot cried out in pain, but continued to run. Damn, Snake thought. That meant that Ocelot had to be wearing body armor, also. Chasing around another corner, Ocelot stood there, waiting for him, squeezing off three shots into his left pectoral muscle. The body armor stopped the slugs effectively, as revolver bullets travel slower than automatic pistol bullets. Squeezing off a last shot, the cowboy split, narrowly dodging a barrage of bullets from Snake's SOCOM.  
  
"I love to reload during a battle!" Ocelot cried out to Snake. "There's nothing like the feeling of slamming a long, silver bullet into a well greased chamber." Snake checked the monitor, and heard the chambers spin. All the dashes reappeared, meaning the Russian cowboy was locked and loaded.  
  
"All right!" he exclaimed. "I'm alive again! Let's go!"  
  
It was then that he spun around again, letting off two bullets. Snake dodged the attack, squeezing off the rest of his magazine as suppressive fire, and retreated. Hiding behind a pillar, the FOX-HOUND agent groped his webbing for an extra magazine.  
  
"Hiding won't help you!" Ocelot yelled in glee. "I understand the bullets, you see. I make them go where I want!"  
  
As proof to that, the Russkie cowboy stopped, aimed, and fired. The bullet hit the wall in front of Snake and slammed into the magazine he had just pulled from its pouch, putting a huge dent in the box clip and setting off the rounds inside. Swiftly, Snake ducked and rolled, pulling another clip, and slamming it home, working the action on the move. Checking the monitor, Snake saw that Ocelot had three bullets left.  
  
Sneaking his way around the corner, Snake spied Ocelot, still looking for him to come back out. Shooting off two bullets, it ricochetted off the wall, hitting the pillar. It was then that Ocelot realized that Snake was not there.   
  
Solid Snake made his move, leaping around the corner, SOCOM in hand, squeezing off half of his twelve round magazine into Ocelot's chest, all of them stopped instantly by the body armor. The cowboy pointed his gun at Snake's head, jerking the trigger. In an instant, the FOX-HOUND agent had moved his head, the bullet only grazing his cheek, but leaving a nasty gash. Snake squeezed off another round as the Russian moved around the corner, missing him by inches.  
  
"You better hurry up!" Ocelot called, as he reloaded again, showing that he loved reloading as he talked trash on the run. "The old man's not gonna last to long!"  
  
Snake tried to turn the corner quickly enough, but he slipped on the metal, falling to the ground again. Rolling, the commando found his footing, angry at the fact that Ocelot was having an advantage due to his clumsiness.  
  
"Don't you want to settle this?" the cowboy taunted, spinning his chambers again.  
  
You have no idea, Snake almost growled in response.  
  
Almost immediately after the taunt, a shot was fired, barely missing Snake's abdomen. Four more shots followed, Ocelot showing that he wanted to end this right now. Snake came around the corner, squeezing off three shots, barely missing his legs. The two ran around in circles, trying to catch each other in a deadly game of tag.   
  
Not expecting it to happen, the two warriors met at an intersection. Training kicked in, and Snake squeezed off the three shots, one of them hitting Ocelot's shoulder, which, when no blood came out, was apparently covered in body armor. The cowboy shot at Snake's kneecap, the knee pad barely deflecting the .45cal slug. After this exchange of fire, both men ran the opposite way of each other.  
  
"I love the smell of cordite..." Ocelot announced. "You know...that sulfury smell..." The bullets reloaded, Snake dropped his own SOCOM clip and fed the German pistol a fresh one.   
  
"But to you," the cowboy said, "it'll be the smell of your own death."  
  
Snake came around the corner, slipping again on the concrete. Ocelot double backed, coming across the corner Snake was facing, and shot off bullet after bullet into Snake's chest, the commando squirming to make sure that the slugs didn't hit elsewhere. The cowboy ran around the corner, and Snake checked the Codec screen. There were no bullets left in the revolver.  
  
Seeing Ocelot pass around a second corner, Snake knew he had a chance. Carefully aiming his pistol so it wouldn't hit any of the trip wires, the FOX-HOUND agent pulled the trigger, the .45cal bullet slamming into Ocelot's calf. The Russkie cried out in pain. It wasn't enough to stop him, Snake knew.  
  
It was, however, enough to take the advantage.  
  
* * *  
  
Revolver Ocelot limped to one of the pillars, putting his back to the steel support structure. The bandanna-clad soldier had nailed his leg. He had endured tougher pain when he was with Spetsnaz, but that was when he was younger, in his early twenties. Now, at fifty-eight, his body, even though it was tougher than most men his age, was not cut out for it.  
  
He'd still try though.  
  
"You're pretty good!" Ocelot wheezed slightly, but loud enough for Snake to hear. "Just what I'd expect from the man with the same code as the Boss." Removing his empty shells and placing fresh ones inside the chambers, he admitted, "It's been a long time since I've had such a good fight, but I'm just getting warmed up!"  
  
Spinning his gun, Revolver Ocelot spun the corner, gun ready, finger inside the trigger guard. The vapor of a man, or seemingly enough, flew by Ocelot's hand. At first, he thought he was seeing things, and decided to keep firing. It was then he realized that he could fire.  
  
His hand was gone.  
  
"What?!" he exclaimed, as crimson blood erupted from where his hand used to be. He spotted his hand on the ground, Colt revolver still grasped by it "My hand!!!" Rapidly, Ocelot grabbed his right stub with his left hand, attempting to stem the bleeding from his hand.  
  
As he tried that, the ghost moved inbetween the trip wires. The slashing of a sword was heard this time, and Baker fell to the ground, grunting loudly. As he slammed into the concrete, the C4 was detonated, safely above Baker, but not safely enough for Ocelot, who was slammed into the wall, stunning him slightly.  
  
The cowboy rubbed his head and looked at Snake, who stood, unharmed, SOCOM at his side. Ocelot realized that it wasn't a ghost. It was-  
  
"Stealth camouflage!"  
  
The ghost kept moving toward Snake, and then, finally, he appeared. He, or it, whatever it was, blue, with red marking across his shoulder blades, hands, elbow and knee caps, and hips. Two eye-slits met one large orb in the middle of his head, which glowed softly of orange light. In his right hand, he held a three foot long katana, the weapon of a samurai.  
  
As much as Snake hated to admit it, this thing gave him the creeps.  
  
"Can't you even die right?!" Ocelot demanded of Snake. Picking up his hand, he darted to the blown up wall that Snake had used for an entrance. "You were lucky! We'll meet again!!!" From there, the cowboy dashed out the hole and ran for safety.  
  
Solid Snake looked to the oncoming threat, who was a mere five feet away from him now. Drawing his SOCOM, he trained the laser on his head. "Who are you?!" he demanded.  
  
The thing, which Snake had dubbed a ninja, stopped walking. Slashing his left hand out in the direction of Baker, he spoke, in a chillingly robotic voice.  
  
"I'm like you..." the ninja said simply. "I have no name." From there, he turned to look at Baker, his orb fiercely burning bright, then dimming again.  
  
Still training his gun on the ninja, he noticed words on the man's head. Not wanting to get close enough to read them, Snake eyed Baker out of the corner of his eye. The ArmsTech president struggled to look up, and saw the ninja, a mask of terror spreading over his face.  
  
"That...that exoskeleton...!" he groaned, fighting to keep his head up.  
  
The ninja turned to look at Snake, then slowly turned around, the orb glinting a bit. There was an odd period of silence, then the ninja erupted.  
  
"GGGGYYYAAAAAAAHHH!!!!!" was the noise that originated from the ninja, the noise that filled the dark, bleak room. "GGGGYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!! GGGGGYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"  
  
The ninja did a front flip, standing up straight, and disappearing before Snake's eyes, turning back into the transparent ghost of a man. The thing did two more flips and exited the room, Snake's gun following the ghost as well as he could. Finally, the noise stopped, and Snake was left there, pointing his gun at nothingness.  
  
The commando turned off his Codec, pointing the gun to the sky, then holstering it. One thought crossed his mind, and left his mouth, resounding throughout the room.  
  
"Who the hell?"  
  
Sixteen hours and twenty three minutes left until doomsday. 


	10. ArmsTech President Kenneth Baker

"Can you talk?" Solid Snake asked as he helped Kenneth Baker up from the ground. Snake was surprised that Baker even lived to survive the explosion of eight blocks of C4, each over a hundred times more powerful than dynamite.  
  
"Who are you?" Baker asked, answering Snake's question.  
  
"I'm not one of them," Snake replied, deflecting Baker's question, starting to walk with Baker to the wall. "The DARPA Chief told me he gave them his detonation code. What about yours?"  
  
Comprehension dawned on Baker's face. "Oh, I get it! Jim sent you! You- you're from the Pentagon!"  
  
"Answer my question!" Snake snarled. "What about your code? There's no time!"  
  
The comprehension fell, as did the ArmsTech President's face.  
  
"I...talked."  
  
"What?!" the FOX-HOUND commando exclaimed. "Now the terrorists have both codes and can launch anytime!!"  
  
"It's not like I didn't fight!" Baker defended himself weakly. "I managed to resist Psycho Mantis' mind probe!"  
  
This made Snake shut up and listen. "He couldn't read you?" he asked incredulously. "How did you do it?"  
  
The old man smiled wryly. "Surgical implants in my brain," he stated, as if that explained it all.  
  
"Surgical implants?" Solid Snake asked, a perplexed look on his face.  
  
"Kind of like a psychic insulation," Baker offered. "Everyone who knows these top-secret codes has it."  
  
"Even the DARPA Chief?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Something didn't sound right with this new intelligence. "But the DARPA Chief said Mantis got his code by reading his mind," Snake pointed out.  
  
ArmsTech screwed up his face. "Are you sure you heard him right?" Who in the hell do you think you're talking to, old man? I've had bullets fly past my damned head for years on end, and I hear a hell of a lot better than you do.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure," Snake replied off-handedly, with the wave of his hand. "In that case, how did they get your code?"  
  
Baker groaned. "I never had any training on how to resist torture." To punctuate the intelligence, ArmsTech wheezed, doubling over, looking as if he was going to cough his bowels from his mouth.  
  
Spreading his arms in explanation, he admitted, "It looks like he had some fun with you, all right."  
  
"Ohhh...he's not human," Baker said, a fear creeping into his brown, elderly eyes. "I tell you, he loved every second of it."  
  
"What happened to your arm?" Snake asked, pointing to the one inside of the large brown trenchcoat.  
  
"He broke it."  
  
Snake smiled grimly. "Looks like you're more than even now. His was sliced off."  
  
"Ha!" Baker smiled. "You're a funny man." His face changed to one of concern. "So...the DARPA Chief...is he okay?"  
  
"Dead," Snake stated simply.  
  
ArmsTech's countenance morphed into one of utter shock. "What?!" he stuttered. "That can't be." Baker then became very angry and began swinging his stick, connecting with Snake's leg. "YOU KNOW, THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU PROMISED JIM!!" he shrieked. "NOW YOU WANNA SHUT ME UP?!"  
  
The pounding against his leg was starting to annoy the FOX-HOUND operative, and he was starting to worry that the noise of the old man ranting on would attract another reaction team, something that he didn't need at the moment.  
  
"Calm down!" Snake growled, putting his face within inches of Baker's to add to the intimidation effect. "What's wrong with you? I just told you I was here to save you!"  
  
Baker whined a bit, and then Snake released him. "I didn't kill the DARPA Chief," he said by way of explanation. "He had a heart attack or something."  
  
"A heart attack?" Baker asked, surprised. The DARPA Chief seemed quite too young and in too well of shape to be killed like that. "Oh, don't be a fool."  
  
"Anyway, the terrorists have both codes now."  
  
"Those boys are totally insane," Baker stammered. "They wouldn't hesitate to launch!"  
  
"I agree. But what do they really want?"  
  
"Ah, who knows? Maybe they're like us in the arms industry: always looking forward to the next good war."  
  
That was part of the reason why Snake despised the arms industry. "Well, I'm not gonna let these maniacs start a war today. Do you still have the card keys?"  
  
"Card keys?" Baker asked, confused.  
  
"To override the detonation code!" Snake explained impatiently. "I heard you had them."  
  
"No." Baker sighed. "Not anymore."  
  
Snake had been facing the wall, but when he heard this, he turned around quickly, his face full of venom. "What?! Who does then?! Not the terrorists?!"  
  
"No," Baker said. "That woman."  
  
"Woman? Who?" "A soldier who was locked up in prison along with me," Baker explained.  
  
"A female soldier," Snake murmured. "It must be..."  
  
"She said she just joined up as a new recruit. They threw her in prison, 'cause she refused to take part in the rebellion."  
  
"A new recruit?" Snake thought aloud. "Could that be the Colonel's niece?"  
  
"I gave her the key," Baker added. "Looks like she managed to break out of there, though. I hope she's okay."  
  
"I'm sure she is," Snake assured ArmsTech. "She's green...but as tough as they come. But tell me, how did you know she escaped?"  
  
"I was in contact with her by Codec," Baker said. "Until I was tied up here, that is."  
  
"Codec?" Snake asked.  
  
"Yes," Baker replied. "She stole it from the guard. If she still has it, you should be able to contact her."  
  
"I'm sure she still has it," Snake assured Baker. "What frequency was she at?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," Baker said. "Let me tell you. It's...uhhh..." There was a moment of silence, and then Baker's voice came back timidly and sheepishly. "Oh, sorry. I forgot."  
  
Snake pounded his fist against his kneepad. "Damn!" this mission was not going smoothly whatsoever, due to an overabundance of Murphy.  
  
A look recognition dawned again. "Oh, that's right! She said she wrote it inside of a box in the armory, just in case a good guy should show up. It's hidden inside a room with pistol ammunition. Try and contact her!"  
  
"I'll contact her right away," Snake assured Baker. "But tell me, if this doesn't work, is there any other way to prevent the missile launch?"  
  
Baker hummed thoughtfully. "You need to find Hal Emmerich, one of my employees."  
  
"Who's that?" Snake snapped suspiciously.  
  
"The team leader of the Metal Gear REX project!" Baker replied, pointing his cane at Snake. "A genius in engineering...but a little bit of an oddball. If there's anyone who can stop Metal Gear from launching, it's him."  
  
"What if he can't come up with anything?"  
  
"You'll have to destroy it. Emmerich knows how to destroy Metal Gear."  
  
"Where is this Emmerich?" Snake asked.  
  
"Well, he's probably being held in the Nuclear Warhead Storage Building. It's north from here. That's where he worked."  
  
"I understand," Snake said slowly, "but...why Metal Gear? The nuclear age ended with the turn of the millennium."  
  
"Oh, you're wrong," Baker responded solemnly. "The threat of nuclear war isn't gone. In fact, it's greater than it's ever been. The amount of spent nuclear fuel and plutonium is increasing even today! Listen, have you ever been in a warehouse full of nuclear material?"  
  
"No," Snake admitted.  
  
"Drums and drums of nuclear waste stacked this high-" he gestured with his cane "-as far as you can see! There's no real way to dispose of the stuff."  
  
"So, they just close the lid and pretend like it will go away?"  
  
"Essentially, yes. And they're not even doing a good job of storing it. Many of the drums are corroded, with nuclear waste seeping out of them."  
  
Snake put on a disgusted face. "Unbelievable!"  
  
"Not only that, but several pounds of MUF are reported every year."  
  
"MUF?"  
  
"It stands for 'Material Unaccounted For.' It just goes to show that there is a large and well-organized black market in nuclear materials. Furthermore, since the end of the Cold War, Russian engineers, in particular, are out of work with nowhere to turn!  
  
"In other words," Baker continued, "there's plenty of available nuclear materials and scientists to make a bomb. We live in an age where any small country can have a nuclear weapons program."  
  
"What about the other superpowers?" Snake asked.  
  
"Russia and China still maintain a significant nuclear presence. Complete nuclear disarmament is impossibility. To maintain our own policy of deterrence, we need a weapon of overwhelming power." Snake sneered. "You mean Metal Gear," he spat.  
  
"Yes," ArmsTech agreed sadly. "You know, our industry suffered quite a blow from cuts in military budgets, due to this so-called 'peace.'"  
  
"I remember hearing a lot about mergers and takeovers among the big weapons makers."  
  
"Yes, and after we lost our bid to produce the Air Force's next line of fighter jet, the Metal Gear system was our last 'ace in the hole.' That's why we pushed to have Metal Gear developed as a black project."  
  
"Black project?"  
  
"Secret programs funded by the Pentagon's black budget. You can avoid a lot of red tape and get a great lead-time on your weapons production. And no one can bother you, not even those bleeding heart liberals on the Military Oversight Committee."  
  
Snake saw it for what it truly was. "Bribes..." He spat the word out bitterly.  
  
"I prefer to think of it as good business," Baker muttered. "Anyway, Metal Gear was going to be formally adopted after the results of this test were analyzed."  
  
Snake started to walk toward Baker, disgusted with what he had just heard. "I don't give a crap about you and your company," he snarled.  
  
"Yes," Baker replied, with an ironic smile, "That's just what I'd expect from a grunt like you." Fishing into his trenchcoat pocket, he said, "Here. This is what you came for, right?"  
  
Snake took the rectangular object from ArmsTech. "What's that?"  
  
"An optical disk," Baker explained. "It's all here. The main hard drive was destroyed by gunfire. This is the only remaining copy of the data."  
  
"What kind of data?"  
  
"All of the results collected from this exercise. Don't play dumb. I know you were sent to get this. They don't know this disk exists. Make sure to report this to Jim...to your boss..."  
  
Snake assumed "Jim" to be Secretary of Defense Jim Houseman, and left it at that. A card was thrust in front of his face.  
  
"Take my card, too," Baker insisted. "It will open all Level 2 doors."  
  
Snake began to feel some sympathy for the man. Resting his hand on Baker's shoulder, he asked gently, "Can you walk?"  
  
"No..." Baker shook his head. "No, you go on without me. They got my password. They don't want anything else from me."  
  
"I have one more question. Who or what was that ninja thing? It look liked you knew something."  
  
Baker's eyes washed over with fear. "That ninja? That was FOX-HOUND's dark little secret!"  
  
"Dark little secret?"  
  
"An experimental...genome...soldier..." Baker hacked a few more times, his throat becoming more raw with each cough.  
  
"You know him?"  
  
Baker hesitated, then replied, "You should ask Dr. Naomi Hunter from FOX- HOUND. She knows better than I."  
  
"Naomi?" Snake asked incredulously.  
  
"You've got to stop them," Baker groaned. "If it goes public my company and I are finished!"  
  
Snake was thinking about the company again, and it led back to Metal Gear. "What? Doesn't Metal Gear use currently existing technology?" "Metal Gear itself does...but-"  
  
He let out something close to a scream, and his free hand went to his chest, clawing at it, in a manner similar to the DARPA Chief during his heart attack. "What...did you...do to me?!" he exclaimed. "Unngh...oh, no, it can't be! THOSE PENTAGON BASTARDS!! SO...THEY ACTUALLY...WENT...AND...DID IT!!!"  
  
"What are you talking about?!" Snake demanded.  
  
"They're...j-just...using your for..." Baker let out an enormous groan, cocked back his head, then drooped. His bowels were released, and Snake knew that Baker had to be dead. "What the hell?" Snake asked the walls, before taking a knee and dialing 140.85.  
  
Before Colonel Campbell even had a chance to speak, Snake interjected, "Colonel? Are you listening? NOW HE'S DEAD, TOO!!!"  
  
"I have no idea," the Colonel started.  
  
"DON'T LIE TO ME!!!" Snake roared.  
  
Naomi came on. "It looked like another heart attack, but..."  
  
"Some kind of poison?"  
  
"Well, there are lots of drugs that can cause a heart attack in large doses, for example potassium chloride or dioxides, but we won't be able to tell without doing an autopsy."  
  
"Damn!"  
  
Colonel Campbell came back on the line. "Snake, I want you and Meryl to work together!"  
  
"Can I trust her?" Snake asked.  
  
"More than you can trust me," Campbell replied, getting a deathly look from Snake. "Get in contact with her."  
  
Mei Ling then inserted herself into the conversation. "Snake, there's a lot of electrical interference coming from there. It should be okay if you use burst transmission like us, but normal transmission is probably impossible. Try moving away from that area."  
  
Campbell came back on. "Snake, get a hold of yourself."  
  
Snake asked, "Naomi, what the hell was that ninja thing? A member of FOX- HOUND?"  
  
"No," Dr. Hunter stammered.  
  
"Are you sure?" he insisted.  
  
"Yes," she said, regaining her confidence. "We have no one like that in our unit."  
  
"Is that right?"  
  
"Snake, I'm counting on you," Campbell said, before killing the line.  
  
Sixteen hours and ten minutes until doomsday. 


	11. Meryl Silverburgh and Lasers

Solid Snake wandered through the corridors which he had opened up, feeling extremely pissed. He had a chance to at least complete _half_ of his objective, and almost had it too, only to be robbed by health, and, by God, _another heart attack!_ There was an overabundance of Murphy on this mission, and it was starting to really irritate Snake.

Stepping through the hole, the FOX-HOUND agent raised his SOCOM, searching for enemies. There weren't any when he arrived, but he wasn't so sure that Ocelot hadn't started an alert on his way out. He needed to stay at the top of his game, as everybody played for keeps.

The next hole came a bit quicker, and Snake stepped through, his Soliton Radar beeping clear in his ear, confirming that his radar jamming had stopped. Not fifty feet away from him, or according to the radar, was a Genome Soldier. It seemed that Ocelot had indeed set up a sentry outpost on his way out. Snake dashed down the hallway, diving into an open block where he had collected SOCOM ammunition before. He scavenged the boxes, looking for more ammunition, and only came up with two more clips, as the new sentries had loaded up in anticipation of him. Out of the corner of his eye, Snake spotted another box while slipping his magazines into pouches. Picking it up, he noted it said DESERT EAGLE .50CAL. 

_Click_, Snake thought. _Baker said that the female soldier had left her frequency inside of a Desert Eagle box just in case a friendly intruded the base. Now I'm not working alone, or at least for the moment, anyway. _Checking inside, he committed the number to memory and crushed the box, hiding the remains somewhere the Genomes wouldn't find it.

A blue cone flashed on his radar, and Snake ducked down behind a stack of boxes, pistol off and hammer back. The Genome stopped for a second, looking into the room, then decided all was well, and continued on his route, turning back toward the elevator.

Relaxing, Snake kept his thumb on the hammer as he pulled the trigger, gradually lowering the hammer back in place. Holstering the HK pistol, the FOX-HOUND commando snuck over to the next door. He noticed it said FAMAS on it, and it was level two security. Snake decided that it was time to test it out.

The door oiled open, and Snake took a rest inside the room, which was gray, with red lines in the center of the room, on the floor and the walls. The commando wondered what it was, and approached it, lighting up a cigarette. He had fought hard, and he deserved a bit of nicotine at the moment.

The commando was about to step over the red line when he noticed something. A thin red beam of light was about a quarter of an inch in front of his nose. He nearly dropped the butt in surprise, but his instinct and training took over, leaping back, putting distance between him and the laser. Snake then noticed that an assault rifle, with two clips, lay beyond the laser net.

Solid Snake moved closer, blowing the smoke all over the place, looking for holes in the net, and finding plenty. It reminded him of Army Basic Combat Training, crawling through the mud and avoiding the barbed wire, except this time, it was concrete and the "barbed wire" was a lot deadlier than the literal object.

Going into the prone position, Snake started to low crawl, his face flat against the ground, blowing cigarette smoke the whole way. He moved at a slow but steady pace, as not to alert his enemies to his presence. The FOX-HOUND agent was certain that the lasers connected to a security system that would send a response team, and that was something he could not do, at least until he was properly armed.

Snake finally squeezed the last inch of the way, standing up and opening the long, rectangular box, pulling out the French FAMAS G2 assault rifle. A bullpup style assault rifle, it carried a twenty-five round magazine of 5.56mm ammunition, in this case the standard NATO SS109 round. Called the Bugle by the French military forces, it had proven itself over the years to be a reliable rifle. Slapping a magazine home and placing the other one in a new magazine pouch, which came with the rifle, Snake crawled through the laser net again, and moved upward to the upper left corner room.

A guard walked up the aisle over, stopped, surveyed the area, and deemed it clear. Moving on, Snake followed closely behind him, trying to keep his steps as quiet as possible. Before long, Snake was in front of the elevator and behind the unsuspecting Genome Soldier. His right arm slipped around the sentry's neck, and pushed forward sharply, snapping cartilage and bone. Dragging the corpse with him to one of the trap doors, Snake activated the door, throwing the guard into the hole, effective disposing of the body.

Solid Snake moved to the door and pressed the One button, moving to the side and drawing his silenced pistol, not wanting to wait any further.

  


* * *  
  
  
  


The door opened, and nobody greeted Snake. The closest Genome was approaching quickly, and Snake didn't have much time. Moving quickly, he ran to the rear of the M1A1 Abrams in front of him. On his way prone, he noticed that the second Abrams had disappeared. Perhaps it went on a routine exercise? The commando made a mental note to check up on that with Mei Ling, and find satellite photos.

Once underneath the tank, Snake got comfortable, and recalled the frequency inside the box. He set the Codec system to 140.15 and transmitted the call. It only took one set of dial tones to reach his intended target. A figure with stunning green eyes, the rest of the face smothered in a black balaclava, stared at him.

Before Snake could even speak, the figure asked, "Who are you?" It was a female voice, Snake noted, which was a step in the affirmative.

"I was really impressed with the way you busted yourself out of there," the commando complimented.

"The one from the prison?" she wondered aloud.

"You're the Colonel's niece, Meryl, right?" Snake asked her.

Her next comment didn't answer the question, which irritated Snake slightly. "No...it's not him...Just exactly who are you?"

"I'm the fool that your uncle sent all alone into the middle of this whole mess," the FOX HOUND agent informed her.

"You came by yourself?" the female soldier asked incredulously. "You think you're some kind of one man army? You're not even _armed_."

_She's got selective memory_, Snake thought, not bothering to go on about he had his pistol at her face, or to inform her of the newly acquired French assault rifle he found in the armory. He didn't need confrontation. Right now, he needed to gain her trust and work her over.

"I appreciate your help from before, but...I don't need lectures." He smiled slightly. "You're just like your uncle, you know."

"How do you know my uncle?"

"We go way back."

"What's your name?" she inquired.

"My name's not important," he deflected.

"Aha!" she exclaimed in true Sherlock Holmes fashion. "Could you be Snake? Are you Solid Snake?"

"That's what some people called me," the myth known as Solid Snake said off-handedly, not wanting to go into his exploits.

"The legendary Solid Snake...! You?!" The tone in her voice sounded like her favorite boy band member had called her onto the stage and ask her what her name was. From there, she looked around, confirming that no guards or cameras were observing her, moved her hand to the corner of her mask, and ripped the balaclava off. Snake liked what he saw.

Puffy red hair, not exactly an afro, but more slicked down, fell out of the mask. The hair could easily be tied back to conform with military specifications. She had a cute nose, small, but not small enough to look like a rat, and full red lips, but not overfull. They curled into a smile. The woman was cute, beautiful even, and there was no denying _that_. Snake even remembered the Genome Soldier in the bathroom.

"Boy, oh, boy...that woman is built, right," he had exclaimed not too long ago. He remembered her full, rounded butt, and now knew that the guard had proper reason for his lust.

"Sorry about before," First Lieutenant Meryl Silverburgh, United States Marine Corps, currently attached to the Next Generation Special Forces Unit, apologized. "I wasn't sure if you were one of the good guys."

"But I knew you were," Snake announced.

"How? Meryl inquired.

"It's your eyes," he explained after a moment.

Meryl's eyes narrowed in dislike. "My eyes?"

"They're not soldier's eyes," Snake elaborated.

Silverburgh lightened up a bit. "They're rookie's eyes, right?" she asked, referring to what Snake had said to her when he had his SOCOM pistol leveled at her head.

"No," he replied. "They're beautiful, compassionate eyes."

Meryl smiled, and chuckled a bit. "Just what I'd expect from the legendary Solid Snake." Her voice had taken a bit of a country girl tone to it, something Snake hadn't noticed. Perhaps she lived in that region for a good part of her life, and she was barely getting it to exit her voice. "You trying to sweep me off my feet?"

"Don't worry," Snake assured her. "You'll land back on them once you meet me. The reality is no match for the legend, I'm afraid."

Meryl chuckled again. "Oh, I don't believe that."

There was an odd silence, then Snake resumed the conversation. "Why did you look so surprised when you saw my face?"

"Because...you look just like _him_..."

"You mean the terrorists' leader, Liquid Snake?"

"Yeah...you know him?" Her face darkened. "You're not brothers, are you?"

"I have no family," the commando said simply and quietly.

"So what's the deal, then?" Meryl pressed.

"Who knows?" Snake replied, then added sarcastically, "Why don't you ask him? But first I want some information. You were involved in this exercise from the beginning. What exactly happened here?"

Her wonderful eyes narrowed again. Snake didn't like that. "I'm sorry. I was captured along with President Baker right after the terrorist attack."

"That's okay. But what is this place? I don't think it's just a nuclear weapons disposal facility..."

Silverburgh shook her head, finding it hard to believe that Snake didn't _know_ already. Didn't everybody know that by now? "Boy, oh, boy...it's just like them! Nobody's told you _anything_, did they? Okay...you see, this place isn't really for disposing nuclear weapons. This base is owned and operated by a dummy corporation of ArmsTech."

Snake dropped his mouth slightly in surprised, but just as quickly closed it. "This is a _civilian_ base?"

"Right. For the development of Metal Gear."

Snake's face took a turn for the worse, narrowing his own eyes and hardening his countenance. He knew exactly who to blame for the lack of intelligence. "Colonel!"

Meryl continued. "FOX-HOUND and the Next Generation Special Forces were called here for the test launching of a dummy nuclear warhead."

"Why FOX-HOUND?" That didn't fall within their charge as members of FOX-HOUND. That was something that any Special Forces group could do. Why call their most elite and waste time on a dummy launch, of all things?

"Because, they're a special ops group used to handling top secret missions. They figured they could help keep it all hush-hush."

It still didn't register with Snake. "But we must have fired nuclear warheads before. Why just this time?"

"I heard it was because this was to be a final test before the formal adoption of the Metal Gear program...that's what I heard, anyway."

"Hmm...sounds kinda fishy...So what do you think the terrorists want?

"Sorry...I'm not sure," Silverburgh repeated. "I was captured with President Baker, right after the revolt started..."

"Oh, yeah," Snake suddenly exclaimed. "That's when he gave you the detonation code override keys, right?"

A smile. "That's right."

"Amazing you were able to keep 'em hidden from the guards."

A wider smile. "Well, women have more hiding places than men."

After seeing her full figure, he knew it to be true. The basic Battle Dress Uniform (BDU) was supposed to try its best to hide curves on women's uniforms, as to keep the men from being distracted. Snake noticed that he could see all of her curves clearly, even with the BDUs draping her body. She had plenty of hiding places, all right. The thing was, Snake was surprised that they hadn't raped her, and discovered the card then.

"Anyway, you met Baker, huh?" Meryl asked, bringing Snake out of his reverie. "How's he holding up?"

The commando didn't want to break the news, afraid that she might pull a Baker and attack him. There was no other way to let her know, though, and she would probably find out anyway. 

"...He's dead," he finally sighed.

"What?!"

"Heart attack," Snake quickly explained. "Same as the DARPA Chief."

Meryl narrowed her eyes further. "The Chief died from a heart attack, too?" she asked.

"Yeah...was either of them sick or anything?"

"No...not that I heard of..."

Snake's face hardened further. "Well, I don't believe in coincidences. Something funny's going on."

"Hmmm...sounds like it, but I have no idea what."

"Me neither...yet." Switching topics, Snake asked, "Do you know the person who designed Metal Gear?"

"You mean Dr. Emmerich?" Meryl asked.

"Yes," Snake confirmed. "Is he still alive?"

"Probably," Meryl responded. "He should be in the research lab in the Second Floor Basement of the Nuclear Warhead Storage Building to the north."

"Second floor basement?"

"Yeah. That's where his lab is. I think they're forcing him to work on the nuclear launching program."

"So, they'll need him alive until that's done, anyway..."

"Then we better do something _before_ he finishes!"

"You're right. In case we can't override the detonation code in time, I need to ask him how to destroy Metal Gear."

Meryl was awed by this statement. "You _plan_ to take that thing on _by yourself_, Snake?"

"It won't be the first time." Snake ended it at that. He didn't feel like recalling memories of past operations. 

"Oh..." Meryl's mouth was slightly open, amazed by the warrior's skill to take on a nuclear equipped walking battle tank. Only a soldier of the highest skill could do_ that_, Meryl was convinced.

After a moment of silence, Snake asked, "What's the best way to get to the building where the doctor is being held?"

"There's a cargo door on the First Floor of this building that leads to the north," Silverburgh replied.

The commando had a general idea of where that was, risking a glance at it. He couldn't see the number on the door. "What's the security level of the door there?"

"Five." Snake swore silently under his breath. Meryl saw the look, then assured him, "It's okay. I've got a level five card."

"Well..." the commando announced, "I've got to go save the doctor. You should go."

"I'm going with you!" she insisted.

Snake squashed that option quickly. "No way. You're still too green. I want you to hide somewhere."

Meryl Silverburgh was a Marine. The idea of running from the enemy and hiding did not appeal to her in the least. "I'm not green," she replied sulkily.

"Oh, yes, you are," Snake replied. They stared at each other, each looking like wanting to physically maim the other. The commando lost it. "You pause for just one second in front of you enemy and it's all over!" he snapped. "Good luck doesn't last forever!"

Instantly, Snake knew he had been too hard on her, for she stopped glaring at him, and drooped her head. Meryl's response came in a broken voice.

"I don't know what happened...I just couldn't pull the trigger right away. I never had any problems in training, but when I thought about my bullets tearing through those soldiers' bodies...I...I hesitated..."

Snake didn't need Meryl going berserk, especially at this point of the operation. His new objective was to bring her back to her usually, sweet but sassy self, and to do it quick, before she did something that all would regret.

"Shooting at targets and shooting at living, breathing people are different," the commando explained.

"Ever since I was a little girl," Meryl confessed, "I always dreamed about being a soldier...every day of my life, I've trained my mind and body for the one day when I could finally see some real action, and now..."

Snake cut her off. "So, what now? You wanna quit?" He almost regretted it, but her response assured him that he was not too harsh with the comment.

"I can't quit," Meryl replied, mostly to herself, before looking up, staring Snake in the face, tears brimming her immaculate emerald eyes. "I can't allow myself to quit now."

"Listen, Meryl," Snake started. "Everybody feels sick the first time they kill someone. Unfortunately, killing is one of those things that gets easier the more you do it. In a war, all of mankind's worst emotions...worst traits come out. It's easy to forget what a sin is on the middle of a battlefield."

"But this isn't a war!" she protested. "It's a terrorist action!"

"You're just a little jumpy from the combat high. The adrenaline in your blood stream is starting to thin out. Just take it easy."

"But I learned all about combat high at the Academy..." Meryl responded, meaning the US Naval Academy, where a percentage of future Marine Corps officers, such as Meryl, go. 

"We'll talk about it later," Snake stated, finishing the discussion. "For now, just think about keeping yourself alive."

Meryl wiped the tears from her eyes, then smiled a bit. "If I get out of here alive, I'll think about that other stuff."

Snake was a bit disappointed. He had hoped by scaring her pants off about the horrors of war, she would back off and do as he said. Obviously, that hadn't taken effect. She had recovered enough to handle some direct requests. 

"Okay. Let me try to say this another way...stay the hell out of my way."

Ironically, Meryl chuckled, her smile going from ear to ear. "You're a real bastard..." she told him. "Just like my uncle said."

Even Snake had to smile at that one. "Ha, ha. I told you. The real me is no match for the legend."

"It looks like you were right," Meryl grinned, before both of them were chuckling. The smiling and the laughing were something Snake never expected to see himself doing without cynicism on the battlefield. This young, ravishing woman had him acting...well, acting _human_. Was that something Snake should have been happy about, or something to be afraid of?

"Okay, Snake," Meryl said, bringing the commando from his reverie. "I'll be a good girl."

Snapping back into game mode, Snake said, "We'll link up after I grab the doctor, then we'll take care of the detonation code override."

"Got ya," Meryl confirmed. "But listen, I know this area better than you. Call me if you have any questions."

"Be careful, okay?" Snake added, which was something odd. In all of his years of death and destruction, he could never remember one time when he told a combat buddy-that's what he started to think of her as-to be careful, assuming that they already knew that.

"After I open the cargo door, I'll contact you," she concluded, killing the Codec link.

Snake nodded to no one in particular, then thought that the Colonel would like to be informed that his niece was all right. He set the Codec frequency to 140.85 and once again thumbed the transmitter.

"Don't worry, Colonel," Snake assured him, even before Campbell could say a word. "Meryl is fine."

A burden lifted itself off of Roy Campbell's shoulders. "Thank God!" he breathed, truly smiling for the first time this operation.

Naomi flashed onto the screen. "Meryl is a very strong woman. I really respect her."

"She's got plenty of heart," Snake agreed.

"Thanks, Snake," Campbell credited Snake.

"Not so fast," Snake told his commanding officer. "The real mission is still ahead."

Campbell frowned at reality, then killed the Codec link on Snake. The commando lay underneath the tank, listening to the sounds of combat boots connecting with cement floor. His decision was to wait for Meryl to open the door before moving out, as he didn't want to accidentally kill her. The wait went on for another thirty seconds, and Snake started to become inpatient. Snake wiped some sweat off of his forehead, his body telling him he was working overtime. As he transferred the sweat from the back of his glove to his Sneaking Suit pants, the Codec rang again.

The frequency read 140.15. Snake activated his transmitter. Meryl's face, still free of the balaclava, smiled at him.

"Snake," she announced, "I unlocked the cargo door for you."

"Thanks," he replied. "Where are you?"

Meryl's grin increased. "Where-I-can-see-ya!"

Snake didn't like that. If it came down to getting caught by a Genome or killing one, the choice was easily made. But how would he feel if he accidentally wasted her, mistaking her for the enemy? The FOX-HOUND agent couldn't allow that.

"Don't move around too much," he ordered, annoyed.

"Don't worry. I'm disguised in this enemy uniform!" She threw the balaclava back on her face. She obviously didn't get his point.

"You won't be for long with the way you walk," Snake blurted, before he could catch himself.

She squinted at him, issuing him a challenge. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Oh...nothing..."

Forgetting about the comment, Meryl continued, "Listen, Snake. The cargo door is like an airlock. It's equipped with infrared sensors. Be careful. If an intruder is sensed, gas is released."

"Gas..." Snake mused aloud. That wasn't good.

"Okay," Silverburgh concluded. "So, we'll meet at the nuclear warhead storage building."

"Wait!" Snake snarled. "You said you'd stay put and be a good girl!"

"I've changed my mind," she informed him.

"Don't get careless," Snake shot back. "That's when things always turn sour."

"Sorry, but this is the only way I can figure out whether or not I'm cut out to be a solider. I gotta get my hands dirty."

Snake raised his voice the loudest he could without attracting unwanted attention. "These guys are professionals! You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"See ya there!" she said, as a way of farewell, then killed the Codec line.

_Damn it!_ Snake thought, as he heard the cargo door slid into the ceiling. He couldn't see all of it from his angle. It was time to move out. Still fuming about the Colonel's headstrong niece, the FOX-HOUND agent drew his SOCOM pistol, engineered for silence, and crawled torpidly to the back end of the tank, not spotting any sentinels in his area. Sure that it was secure, Snake quickly scrambled from underneath the tank, HK pistol held in both hands, rushing for where he had saw the cargo door for the first time, which was when he acquired his suppressor.

Taking his first real look inside the room, he spotted where the lasers emitted from, huge holes planted in the walls. It didn't even take Snake ten seconds to figure out what he was going to do. The FAMAS assault rifle on his back reminded him of that. Pulling out a Winston cigarette, Snake lit up, sending the smoke in the direction of the lasers.

The first laser moved up and down, which worried Snake slightly. The other lasers had been stationary, making it easy for him to move. The advantage here was that he would not have to crawl. The disadvantage was that he had to use luck and timing to get past eight of these laser ports. Between each laser beam was a safe zone in which he could lay in wait for the opportunity to move to the next safe zone.

As soon as the laser cleared his head, the FOX-HOUND veteran moved underneath it, standing in the first safe zone. The second laser seemed to move quicker than the first one, but presented no problem to Snake, as he ducked underneath that one, too. He stopped, blowing smoke in front of him, finding that the third laser was slower than the first and second once. As soon as it reached the proper height, Snake moved to the next island, as he was referring to the safe spots between lasers.

Three down, five more to go, Snake weaved in and out, ducking under lasers, both quick and slow, his Winstons providing the surveillance that he needed. As he crossed the last one, he breathed a sigh of relief. Chemical weapons were one of the few things that scared Snake, which was nothing to be ashamed about. Even the toughest soldiers would be insane if they didn't fear chemical and biological weapons. They are not good ways to die.

Snake approached the end door, which had a large "2" printed on it. Pulling out the keycard that President Baker gave him, the door read the data, raising the gate high for Snake to pass through.

Fifteen hours and fifty five minutes until doomsday. 


	12. M1A1 Abrams

Snake stepped through the Level Two door, stepping into the canyon. The stars provided the illumination, along with the moon, although as it neared the end of the month, it was waning more and more. Snow covered every inch of the canyon, with a few boulders placed here and there. About one hundred yards ahead of the FOX-HOUND commando lay the door that led to the Nuclear Warhead Storage Building. From here, he couldn't see the security level of the door, but decided not to worry about it at the moment.

Looking below his feet, Snake noticed that there were large tracks to either side of him. Having fought numerous battles all over the world, he knew that they were tank tracks. _So, _this _is where the other tank went..._he thought to himself, lighting a cigarette.

He scanned his surroundings further, noticing there were no guards on rotating patrol, no surveillance cameras, _nothing._ His instinct told him that something was very wrong with this picture, and Solid Snake was a very instinctual man. The FOX-HOUND veteran decided that he would proceed carefully, looking for a signal of a trap. He hadn't taken two steps when the Codec went off in his ear. Stepping back irritably, he took a knee and answered. "Yeah."

Two things were wrong with the call. One-the caller's face was covered in static, preventing identification. Two-the frequency was not one that Snake recognized. He was on the verge of killing the call immediately when the unknown party called, "Snake, be careful! There are Claymore mines around there. Use a mine detector!"

Instantly, Snake knew that staying on would be helpful to his cause. The mine theory explained everything. There was no need for cameras or sentinels because the M81A1 anti-personnel mines would take care of most intruders. They nearly did in the legendary Solid Snake._ Smart..._he thought.

"Who are you?" Snake asked.

"Just call me...'Deepthroat,'" the mystery man replied. The name fit him. His voice was low, resonant, one that could be used to strike fear into the heart of even the bravest man. It reminded him of a battle buddy of old, but he knew that said battle buddy was dead.

Snake had killed him.

"Deepthroat?" he asked. "The informant from the Watergate Scandal?"

Deepthroat gave an annoyed sigh. "Never mind about that."

"You're not using burst transmission. Are you nearby?"

Ignoring the question, Deepthroat hissed, "_Listen_. There's a tank in front of your position waiting to ambush you!"

_This guy has got to be wired in,_ Snake thought. _The strategy is sound. Plant mines, and if I happen to get by the mines through pure, dumb luck, then the Abrams appears from its ambush point, blasting me away with all of its armament. There's still something I don't understand..._why_ is this guy trying to help me?_

"Who are you, anyway?!" Snake snapped, wanting some answers.

"One of your fans," Deepthroat replied cryptically before ending the conversation.

_Damn! This is violation of the damned operational security. I've got to let the Colonel know._ Changing his frequency to 140.85, he raised Colonel Campbell on the Codec.

"Colonel," Snake rasped, "I got a Codec call from someone _outside_ this operation!"

"I know," Roy Campbell replied coolly. "We were monitoring the call. Mei Ling knows everything about the communications system, so let me have her explain it to you."

The screen flashed. "Well," Mei Ling began, "if someone knows your frequency, they can call you, but the question is, how did he learn it? It's top secret information..."

The FOX-HOUND commando's brow creased. "So you mean someone leaked the information?" he growled.

Mei Ling nodded. "That's the only explanation I can think of..."

"Mei Ling, do you know where that transmission originated from?" If she did, he was going to find this Deepthroat and get some answers.

"I'm sorry," Mei Ling apologized. "The radio waves were too weak to locate their source, but I'm sure he's near you...somewhere on the base."

_Well, at least there's a chance I can still find out what the hell is going on..._Snake mused.

Campbell broke Snake's reverie. "Snake, you'll have to crawl through the minefield to advance."

"Yeah," Snake agreed, killing the line. He looked out at the minefield, his mind doing two-twenty miles per hour, trying to sort out his thoughts. _If there's a leak in the operation...I'm in big trouble. My position has been tracked on the Soliton Radar since the beginning of the mission. A mole within the mission team could have been giving up my location every second, letting them know where I am. That's what probably caused the prison firefight..._damn_ it!_

The FOX-HOUND veteran analyzed the ground in front of him. His finely-tuned eagle's eyes scanned the area, not finding any sign of a trip wire anywhere. That crossed out that method of detonation. There were no guards, so ex-nay remote detonation. That left only one detonation technique, and getting around the mines would be tricky at best.

Snake's contacts within the SpecOps community had told him about a new "pressure pad" that was compatible with the M81A1 anti-personnel mine. If one applied more than ten pounds of pressure on the pad, the Claymore would be armed. Once that person released that pressure, the mine was detonated. Much like a trip wire, but more versatile in more environments.

The advantage that Snake had, however, was that the pad was only on the side that said "FRONT TOWARD ENEMY." Once he could see the mines, he'd be able to craw around the back, disconnect the mine from the pressure pad, then take both of them with him, adding to his growing armory. That only left one problem, and Snake knew he could solve it.

Reaching to the back of his LCE belt, Snake removed his AN/TVS-7 thermal observation devices, placing them on his head. They would continue to put strain on his neck and wear out his eyes if he wore it for a prolonged period of time, but he didn't plan on wearing the clunky TODs more than he had to. Switching them on, the whole world turned red, like a modern-day Hell in Alaska.

The Claymores stuck out like a sore thumb. Snow is known for its ability to trap heat. Anti personnel mines are not. When Snake put the goggles over his eyes, he felt like Spiderman and Superman, able to see through the ground, finding danger before it happened. Tallying up the mines, he saw there were six of them, aligned with the tank tracks. The nearest one was three feet in front of him and the furthest thirty feet.

Most carefully, the FOX-HOUND veteran made his way behind the first Claymore, facing the unmarked, "safe" side. Taking a knee, he scanned the mine for its connection to the pressure pad. It didn't take long. A small set of wiring led from the top of the mine to a diminutive computer processing unit in the corner of the pressure pad. Deliberately, he felt along the wire, and, holding his breath, yanked the wire. Pulling the mine out of the ground, he placed it and the pressure pad inside of a pouch. It could come into play sometime later.

Moving six feet to his left, Snake ran through a similar process with the second mine, stashing it. Demining was now routine. He would move to a mine, disconnect it, and stash it. After the fourth one, he buried them off to the side in the snow, hoping the Genome Soldiers wouldn't find them. Finally diffusing all of the mines, the FOX-HOUND commando removed the AN/TVS-7s from his face, replacing them and rubbing his eyes. Hoping that Deepthroat's warning of a tank didn't hold water, Snake charged toward the Nuclear Warhead Storage Building.

That's when the rumbling started.

The door at the far end opened, and the mammoth M1A1 Abrams main battle tank came rolling out. Snake knew that he was in trouble. The Abrams was invulnerable to near every weapon that infantrymen carried, and put up a good resistance to air-to-ground missiles. Colonel Campbell's words played back to him:

_"This is a top secret black-op. Don't expect any official support."_

Calling in an air strike was out of the question, especially after losing the F-16s over the Bering Sea. Murphy had struck at Solid Snake again, forcing him to do what he had become skilled at improvision.

The Abrams stopped forty meters in front of Snake. "This is Raven's territory..." a voice boomed from a custom-built loud speaker. The tank commander's hatch opened up, and a man rose from it. With his tanned skin, he looked as if he were a native of Alaska, one of the Eskimos. Tattoos covered his immense pectoral, bicep, and abdomen muscles, as well as a large, black raven across his forehead.

_Ouch...that's gotta hurt,_ Snake smirked to himself.

"Snakes don't belong in Alaska," the man, identified as Vulcan Raven, continued. "I will not let you pass." Looking to his tank gunners, he ordered, "Send him a message!"

The turret spun, facing Snake. He tensed for a few seconds, then his training took over. The warrior turned to dive out of the way, but the rounds from the tank landed a few feet in front of him, propelling him further. Improvising, he flipped halfway through the air, coming back to a kneeling position, sliding a few feet in the snow.

It wasn't the best, but at least he was still living.

Raven guffawed boisterously. "That's right," he told Snake. "You belong on the ground. You should crawl on the ground like the snake you are." Sliding back into his tank hole, he resumed his trash-talk on the loud speaker. "Come! Let's fight!"

Very quickly, he sprinted for cover, kneeling behind a boulder that obscured the Abrams' vision. He went through his Codec's memory, finding Nastasha's frequency on it. She _was_ a military analyst, and would have studied tanks sometime in her career, hopefully. He didn't even get a chance to tell her what the problem was. Romanenko was receiving a live feed from Alaska.

"That M1 tank is equipped with advanced vetronics," she began. "Once it locks on to a target, it automatically tracks it, and its main gun is effective up to three thousand meters. To get close, you'll have to confuse its tracking system. Use your chaff. If you can jam the system and get close enough, it won't be able to use its main gun."

"So, use the chaff?" Snake repeated.

"Yes," Nastasha replied. "Use your chaff at a long distance to fool its electronic systems."

"Thanks," Snake said, killing the line. Groping his LCE belt, he found one of the cylinder-like grenades, popping the pin and tossing it over the boulder. Drawing his FAMAS assault rifle, Snake prepared to make his move. It would be bold and it would be risky, but it was his only chance of surviving the encounter.

The chaff exploded, and Snake charged from cover, heading directly for the tank thirty-five meters in front of him. A Next-Generation Special Forces trooper manned the Abrams' Browning M2 machine gun, known as Ma Deuce. It fired the .50cal bullet, guaranteeing that it would kill or severely maim whatever it hit. Snake had to keep the NGSF soldier's head down in order to ensure that the accurate Ma Deuce wasn't fired.

Flicking the selector switch to full automatic, the FOX-HOUND veteran started spraying bullets downrange, forcing the soldier to keep his head down. When Snake ran out of ammo, he sprinted for cover behind a heat generator, reloading the assault rifle. Fifty caliber bullets peppered his position, causing him to wince at the proximity of the slugs. Slinging the rifle, Snake pulled another chaff grenade, tossing it off to the side. While he was at it, he pulled out one of his M67 frag grenades, pulling the pin but holding on to the safety spoon. Four seconds later, the chaff exploded, allowing Snake to make his move.

Spinning around the corner, Snake cocked his arm back and hurled the grenade at the tank, setting it just off of the turret. The shrapnel flew everyone, one piece catching the Ma Deuce gunner below the right eye, spraying blood and brain matter all over the steel monster. The assistant gunner pushed the body out of the tank, and the Abrams ran over the body two seconds later.

So much for camaraderie.

The assistant gunner manned the Ma Deuce, an angry look in his eyes. "Let's see how you like this!" he growled, his fingers itching to depress on the butterfly-style triggers.

Snake rushed the tank, the FAMAS out again, spraying three round bursts at the enemy. The new Ma Deuce gunner didn't flinch a single bit, continuing his rampage with the .50cal. A round grazed Snake's calf, splitting open the skin, forcing him to the ground. Less than a half second later, a round whizzed by where Snake's head had been a second earlier.

_Close call, Snake. End this, _now.

The Genome temporarily lost sight of Snake, and said as much to Raven. "Circle around and find him!" Raven barked.

The M1A1 shook violently, having run over one of Snake's anti-personnel mines. While the crew was exchanging "Status report!" and "What the fuck?!", Snake climbed on top of the Abrams, a M67 palmed in his right hand. Very quietly, he dropped the circular bomb inside of the Ma Deuce gunner hatch, then turned and ran like hell. The moment that the FOX-HOUND warrior's feet touched the ground, a loud explosion shook the ground, sending Snake flying on his face. Turning around, he saw the tank going into chain-reaction explosions, fires erupting on several areas of the tank. The Ma Deuce gunner's body soared through the air, landing with a loud _thump_, and rolling over, knowing no more.

_Nice fight, pardner,_ Snake thought in a John Wayne voice, approaching the dead corpse. During the fight, he had seen that it took a Level Three card to access the Nuke Storage Building. Groping the corpse, he finally found the flimsy piece of plastic, marked with a large "3." Turning around, he started sprinting for the door, not knowing if Raven was still alive, and not wanting to stick around and find out.

Inside the destroyed Abrams, Raven had accessed his Codec. "Well, Boss," he muttered, "I hope you are happy. He got the card."

"We'll play with him a little longer..." Liquid Snake said slyly.

"You would be wise not to underestimate him," Raven admitted.

"What did you think of him?"

The FOX-HOUND giant shoved his way out of the broken tank, getting a breath of fresh, cold, Alaska air. Ravens started to flock to their namesake. "He is just as you said. In battle, he is as if possessed by a demon. Much like you. I would expect no less."

"You _see?_" the rumbling mid-pitched growl of Revolver Ocelot said pointedly. "I told you so! But I _will_ kill him!"

Raven allowed a smidgeon of a smile to cross his face. "So, General Ivan, I hear he took your hand as well as your dignity."

"Watch your tongue, Shaman!" Ocelot snarled.

"In the language of the Sioux people, 'Sioux' means snake," Raven informed his commanders. "It is known as an animal to be feared."

The Russian cowboy didn't seem to care. "Well, Snake is _mine_ now. When I meet him next, I'll take special care of him..."

There was a pause, then Liquid said, "Not yet. Don't kill him yet."

"He and I will meet again in battle," Raven announced suddenly, as if seeing a vision of the future.

"Same prediction, as always?" Ocelot smirked.

"Yes," Raven said seriously. "The raven on my head-" the ravens started to take interest "-it thirsts for his blood."

The scavenger birds voiced their agreement before flying off into the Alaskan night, leaving the FOX-HOUND shaman to contemplate his role in the grand scheme, and his next meeting with the demon-warrior known as Solid Snake...

Fifteen hours and forty-seven minutes until doomsday.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
I'm sorry that I haven't posted lately. I've had a contest story to work on, my own novels I'm trying to get done and ready to send off to a publisher, and crossovers with my original characters. I WILL get this story done, though. You have my assurances of that. And one more thing-the sorry, sorry remake of Tactical Espionage Action called "The Twin Snakes" will NOT have any effect on my story whatsoever. It will be based off of the classic PS1 version, not the half-assed remake. I'm strongly against the remake bceause they redid the voice acting and they redid the cutscenes. E-GAD!!! Snake's always supposed to use a two-handed Weaver stance, not the one handed Hollywood bullshit! But anyway, I'm done with my rant. Sorry for not posting again. If you have any questions or comments, e-mail me at: ****

Solid_Snake_evolution@yahoo.com.   
  
Thank you for reading my novelization of Tactical Espionage Action: Metal Gear Solid. 


	13. Nuclear Warhead Storage Building

Snake stepped through the metal door that led to the Nuclear Warhead Storage Building. To his immediate left, he spotted a set of stairs which led to a lookout window. He decided to take a look, hoping to formulate a plan of action for sneaking past the guards that surely patrolled the next room.

It didn't take him long to cover the fifty meters to the window, and from there, he removed his S23A7 digital binoculars from his belt pouch, scanning the area. There were several crates that stacked high, almost scraping the ceiling. There were three patrolling guards, and all seemed to be wearing yellow jumpsuits of sorts. Upon further inspection, Snake learned they were wearing gas masks. That didn't make sense, though. Weren't the containers sealed tight to prevent contamination? _A question to ask Nastasha,_ he decided. _Two surveillance cameras...security is pretty tight here. _

His mind drifted to Meryl. She must have been worried sick, knowing that a tank was headed to his position. Snake wondered why she hadn't given him a warning, but it didn't matter. The mysterious Deepthroat had done that for him. Nonetheless, he needed to check up on her and see if she had kept out of trouble. Setting the frequency to 140.15, he dialed. A masked face filled the screen, and a gloved hand reached to remove the balaclava, revealing the beautiful face of Meryl Silverburgh.

The moment she saw it was Snake, a broad smile of relief and admiration crossed her face. Before he could even say a single word, Meryl exploded. "You're incredible, Snake!" she praised. "You single-handedly beat a M1 tank!"

Snake couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, no big deal. But I'll bet that VR simulator you trained didn't have any scenarios that put you one-on-one against a tank, did it?"

The smile stayed on Meryl's face, in spite of herself. "No...but there was no scenario where I had to work alone with a special forces soldier against a group of terrorists, either."

Snake became serious again. "In real life, things never go the way you expect them to...especially on a battlefield."

Meryl nodded, then answered the question Snake was about to ask. "I"m further ahead in the Warhead Storage Building. I just checked on Dr. Emmerich. It looked like he was fine, but not for long. Hurry this way, okay?" Snake nodded, Meryl covered her face, and logged off.

The FOX-HOUND operative ran back down the walkway, down the stairs, and forward, heading down a ramp that lead to the Warhead Storage Building's first floor. He lay on his stomach, listening for boots colliding with concrete floor. Snake didn't have to wait long, and eventually, the man's legs came into sight. The Genome stopped, looking for anything unusual, then turned and headed away from Snake, content that all was well.

Snake crawled underneath the ajar door, entering the first floor. Immediately, he received a Codec call from Colonel Campbell. Moving quickly to his left, he slid into a cranny between two boxes before accepting the call.

"Snake, you absolutely must not use any of your weapons in that area," Campbell ordered.

Before Snake could ask him if he had gone off of his rocker, Dr. Naomi inserted herself into the conversation. "I've already programmed the nanomachines so that he won't be able to, Colonel."

Snake's face darkened. "_What?!_ What are you talking about?!" he snarled. Weapons were the only thing that kept him alive within this snowy hellhole. He reached for his SOCOM to test what Naomi said, and found that as soon as he touched the handgun, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his arm. He immediately jerked his hand away, resisting the temptation to curse. _She must have programmed them so that when my brain registers that I have the gun in my hand, they tap into my nerve endings and cause pain. She knows I have to stay quiet to stay alive. _

"Have you forgotten?" Naomi asked coldly, as if she were a teacher scolding a pupil. "That's where they keep the nuclear warheads. Can't you see them?"

"Yeah..." Snake admitted. "There's lots of boxes piled up here, but are they all warheads?"

Campbell nodded. "Yes," he said. "They're all dismantled warheads."

"They just leave them here?" Snake asked incredulously. "It's just like President Baker said...totally careless."

The Colonel nodded sadly. "They're working on a limited budget. They try to put on a pretty face for the media, but this is the grim reality of it. Nastasha knows more about it than I do."

Naomi added, "All the detonation devices on the warheads have had their detonation devices removed, so there's no fear of the warheads exploding, but if the warheads are broken, they may leak plutonium, and that would be a serious problem."

Snake secretly agreed. If he inhaled any plutonium, he would be dead within a week, in some cases as early as twenty-four hours later. So, using his weapons would be out of the option, then. He needed to live.

"Snake," Campbell reminded the warrior, "never use your weapon on that floor." Base signed out, leaving Snake to assess the situation.

_Okay, Snake. Three guards, all special operations trained, fused with the genes of a legendary soldier. Armed with weapons and not afraid to use them, especially considering they have gas masks to protect them from plutonium. You don't have access to weapons; Naomi saw to that. Two surveillance cameras...one on the first floor, hidden in a cranny, and one on the second floor, watching a box. Okay, I think I have a plan._

Let's do this.

Snake peeked from out of the cavity, seeing the guard that had walked by him almost directly in front of him, seventy-five meters ahead. Looking to his left, he saw that at the very edge of the building was another box, providing another cranny he could hide in. Checking that the guard was still far enough away that he could make it to the cranny, he slipped out and began to sprint. Due to his ninjitsu training he had received with FOX-HOUND, Snake moved rapidly, but didn't make any noise whatsoever.

The FOX-HOUND operative checked his three o'clock, noticing that the guard had stopped, facing the stairway. He didn't have much time before he was discovered. Snake picked up the pace, giving everything he had into the sprint. As he reached the space, he dove into it, flattening his body against the crate, beginning breathing exercise to calm his heart rate. Snake peeked at his radar, watching the guard approaching him, mind racing for a contingency plan. The blue cone covered the bright centered dot.

The cone didn't turn red.

The crate must have been obstructing the Genome's field of vision. Snake silently thanked whatever deity had decided to spare him, and waited for the sentinel to turn his back. Looking at the stairs, Snake spotted the sentry peeking down. He appeared uninterested, and quickly turned back the way he came. The FOX-HOUND soldier silently dashed up the stairs, and within seconds, he was behind the guard. He cocked his elbow back, violently crashing it on the Genome's skull, rendering him unconscious. Snake propped the guard against a wall, making him look as if he were sleeping on the job. Pressing a button, Snake waited for the elevator to come. Thirty seconds later, he was inside, and headed for the second floor basement of the Nuclear Warhead Storage Building.

Seventeen hours and eighteen minutes until doomsday.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I know it's nothing big, but it's something! I'm a bit apprehensive continuing, because my copy of Metal Gear has pooped out on me. I can't provide all the correct dialogue. Lucky that I memorized certain sections...;-) More will follow soon! Sorry for such the long delay between postings, and I'm sorry that this chapter is so short! I will post longer! Up next in Metal Gear Solid: Snake versus the Ninja! 


	14. Ninja

The steel doors slid open, and Snake moved around the corner, his SOCOM gripped with both hands, finger not far from the trigger. He stepped out into the second floor basement, getting a feel for his surroundings. To his right was a glass door, with a large sign pasted on left side, warning of high electrical voltage. Straight ahead of him was a level 3 door. The door to his right was un-numbered, so Snake decided his best bet was through the main entrance. Stepping up to the door, he withdrew the security card from his pocket and stepped into a passage, which looked like a decontamination chamber. This worried the FOX-HOUND veteran slightly, as there wouldn't be a decon room unless... 

His suspicions were confirmed when he opened the next door. Yellow gas surrounded him, and he automatically held his breath. The floor cackled, and Snake was discouraged from continuing any further. Quickly, he stepped back through the other door, continuing to hold his breath until the decon process was complete. He received a Codec call right then.

The screen was filled with static. It was Deepthroat.

"Snake, watch out! That place is filled with gas!" His voice was filled with anxiety, as if Snake dying would rob him of something precious. "Also, the floor is electrified."

_That explains the cackling,_ Snake mused.

"First, destroy the high-voltage switch," Deepthroat continued. "It's the switchboard on the northwest wall."

"But how?" Snake asked. "I can't reach it!"

"Use a remote-controlled missile." Deepthroat cut communication.

Snake thought to himself for a while. _Great. Find a new weapon. That means I have to go to the goddamned Tank Hangar all over again and sneak out with a new friend on my back who won't shut up. This'll be great fun. At the same time, it doesn't make sense. The sentries here also need weapons and equipment. Why would they inconvenience them by making them go all the way back? There has to be a makeshift armory somewhere in the vicinity. There's no room for that here, and it didn't look like they would have one on the first floor... _

_First floor basement, it is._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Snake checked his radar as the elevator doors parted, granting him access to the First Floor Basement. There were two patrolling guards, and only one of them was on the move. The other one seemed to have a call of nature.

The warrior had two options here. If he worked quickly, he could take out both guards and search the floor unhindered. At the same time, that option was not especially wise because when the guards failed to report, a response team would be sent, and the bodies discovered. Upon further thinking, Snake realized that Emmerich had to have a security detail on him, just in case somebody figured out how to get past the NBC and electric countermeasures, and that in order to get to the Doctor, he would have to take them all out.

Drawing his SOCOM, he moved silently to the bathroom, just stepping inside the sliding door. The guard was oblivious to the intruder, and remained so until his death, a .45cal bullet shattering his skull. Not even bothering to hide the body, Snake left the bathroom, continuing on into the main room. One guard was at the far end of the room, his back turned to the FOX-HOUND veteran. Snake aimed carefully, aligning the laser dot with the man's head. He slowly pulled the trigger, but as the resistance broke, the man moved, and the bullet ricocheted.

The guard turned around, bringing his FAMAS to bear and squeezing off three shots, forcing Snake to take cover. Rolling out of the way, he took a knee and squeezed off the remainder of his magazine without even thinking about it, striking the man four times in the chest, one round striking the man in the heart, killing him instantly. Dropping the spent magazine, Snake slammed a fresh one home, breathing heavily.

_Not as smooth as I would have wished, but it'll do._

Snake entered the first room he saw on his left upon entrance of the main room, and found a briefcase. Taking a knee, he undid the fasteners on the case and slowly opened the cover. Inside sat one of the most advanced pieces of military technology up to date.

The military designation was the TOW-4, an acronym for Tube-launched Optic Wire-guided missile, version four. Its common name was the Nikita. It used the same technology as its heavier predecessors, but the designers had been successful in making two major changes to the TOW-3. The first was miniaturizing the technology so it could be shoulder-carried and employed almost anywhere, much like a standard LAW rocket launcher or a FIM-92A Stinger surface-to-air missile launcher.

Its second technological advance was increasing the range and capabilities of the guidance system. The original TOWs were limited to the length of the wire used to guide the missile, but with the introduction of remote-control technology, much like that used in children's toys, the missile was now limited only by the amount of fuel. An antenna had been added to the main launching platform and the missile itself. A video camera built above the explosive charge inside of the warhead transmitted signals to a miniature television screen, allowing the user to remain hidden while guiding the rocket to its destination. It had a range of four square miles, making it the most versatile remote-controlled missile launcher ever designed.

Snake nodded, a grim smile crossing his lips as he closed the case shut. _Now I'm ready to advance._ Next to Snake was another case with four missiles inside of it. The FOX-HOUND operative doubted he would need all four missiles to take out the generator, but it never hurt to be prepared. He grabbed the essential materials and left the room, heading for the elevator.

_Let's just hope that the Doctor's still alive when I get there._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Snake held his breath as he stepped into the gas chamber. He had unfurled the Nikita's television screen, and he peered at it as he pulled the trigger. The Nikita kicked into his shoulders, and the screen sparked to life, showing the electrified hallway that Snake was facing. It traveled the thirty feet with grace, reaching the fork in the road.

_Let's go right_.

Using the joystick, Snake manipulated the missile to the left, easing it into the room. It was obviously a general workplace, with computers, large desks, and cubicles guarded by security doors. The thing that caught the FOX-HOUND commando's attention was the surveillance camera. He knew that there would be cameras in the workplace-the heads of companies hated not knowing what was going on. However, these cameras had what appeared to be a M60 machine gun barrel mounted underneath, and connected to it was a box of ammunition.

_Gun cameras...smart..._

They obviously had some type of IFF (Independent Friendly Fire) sensor on them, and the missile wasn't going to meet the camera's standards. Swiftly, Snake turned the missile away from the camera, finding that four more-three on one wall and one on the opposite-awaited him.

_Damn it!_

One camera locked onto the missile's heat signature, and not detecting an IFF badge, opened fire on the missile. Thinking quickly, Snake forced the missile to take a hard left and then a steep ascent, the camera following the missile and taking out the gun camera across from it. Snake brought it back on course and headed dead-on for the attacking camera's neighbor. Both cameras locked on the missile, just as Snake had hoped.

The missile took a swift plunge, and the cameras met each other's bullets, destroying both cameras and leaving only one for Snake to deal with. He guided the missile low to the ground, spinning around in circles as he waited for the camera to face toward its fallen comrades. A resonant beep reached Snake's ears, and he saw that he was running low on fuel.

_Come on, goddamn it..._

The camera torpidly craned itself in the desired direction, and Snake's missile zoomed along, clearing the cameras. After entering the camera-free room, he took another right, and guided the missile right into the switchboard.

The result was satisfying.

A rumble started in the switchboard. It didn't take long for it travel along the electrical circuit and into the floor, frying the circuits in the floor. The floor rocked as the switchboard destructed internally, disabling all the floor circuits. Smoke slowly rose from the floor, and Snake allowed a smile.

Hurriedly, he rushed back into the decontamination chamber, taking a deep breath of air. Snake rested his hands on his knees, hunching over, silently thanking Master Miller for taking a note from the Navy SEAL book of torture and forcing him to take drown-proofing classes. He knew that it was possible to drown in gas, just like one could drown in water. The FOX-HOUND operative waited about two minutes, regaining his breath, then looking back at the newly cleared hallway. If he was to run about in the gas-infested area, Snake would need a gas mask.

The question was, where was a gas mask?

Snake somehow doubted that he would find one on the first floor basement this time. His gut told him that the gas mask was somewhere inside the gassed area. Stepping up to the door, he took a deep breath, then removed the level three security card from his pocket, holding his breath as the door oiled open.

Solid Snake rushed to the first door, card in hand. It slid open with a_ whirr _sound, but all it contained was an MRE. Wearing a curse on his face, Snake moved to the second door, seeing it was a level four secured door. Hitting the door with a hammerfist out of frustration, Snake dashed to the third door, where he was both elated and frustrated. The gas mask was inside, but a gun camera stood guard over it. Rushing back to the entrance, Snake picked up his Nikita and rushed back to the door, opening the door and stepping inside, aiming the Nikita straight at the camera. The IFF began to register and turn on Snake, but he beat the camera to the punch, firing off another Nikita missile. The rocket flew through the air, detonating upon impact with the camera. The ammunition attached did nothing to help the camera, and Solid Snake found himself slipping into a FR-M40 gas mask.

The FOX-HOUND operative took a deep breath, glad to be sucking in oxygen and carbon dioxide instead of a slow-acting nerve agent. Hefting the Nikita, Snake stepped back in the hallway, checking his radar. Around the corner was another gun camera, waiting for an intruder to take to target practice. Snake pressed up against the corner, watching his radar and waiting for the camera to face the other way. Once it began to turn, he spun around the corner, firing another missile and frying yet another camera.

_My new moniker: Solid Snake, Camera Destroyer, _he thought with jest.

Figuring he wouldn't need the Nikita any further, he dropped it on the ground by the corner, and unslung his FAMAS, putting it to his shoulder and eyeing the door in front of him. Somebody had done a bad paint-job to it, but its meaning was clear.

_Hal's Lab-Keep Out!_

Snake stepped through the door, entering another decontamination chamber. As gasses played upon his body, removing the harmful gasses from the previous hallway, he slipped the FR-M40 from his face and placed it in its pouch, newly added to his collection of belt items. Once the decontamination process was complete, Snake stepped to the door cautiously, finger on the trigger of his FAMAS. He knew that there had to be guards on standby, just in case somebody managed to slip past the defenses. The FOX-HOUND commando's presence wasn't exactly a secret-

_"Freeze!"_

Snake jumped back, bringing the sights to his eyes. Instead of the door sliding open to reveal a response team, he heard a strange, squishy noise. It wasn't squishy, like kids liked to describe spaghetti as, but more of a gory squishy. Screams followed the noise, and Snake fumbled to get the card out of his pocket, forcing the door to slide open. There were no guards inside of the small room, but there was another door that, assumedly, led to Dr. Emmerich. As he stepped closer to this door, machine gun fire filled the air, followed by more squishy gore and screams.

What Solid Snake saw as he stepped through that door would haunt him as the goriest sight he had ever seen.

Yellow-clad bodies were strewn about the place. Organs were falling from sharp, precise cuts, swimming in blood. The stench of dead bodies reached Snake's nose, and for the first time in years, he felt woozy, nauseous. Blood sporadically replaced flat blue-gray as the wallpaper hue. The Genomes still held their weapons in their hands, some of them not even ready to fire, indicating that the threat was fast, caught them off-guard, or both.

_It looks like they were cut by some type of blade..._

Snake took a knee. Perhaps Meryl would have some insight to shed on the slaughter field.

"Meryl..." he said, once she had answered her Codec and peeled her balaclava from her face. "This pile of corpses...is this your handiwork?"

Snake turned his wrist toward the scene, allowing Meryl to survey what he was talking about. Her response was vehement and immediate.

"No way!"

The FOX-HOUND veteran grunted. "I didn't think so."

"Then what?" Meryl asked, disgusted by the crimson craftsmanship.

"I don't know," Snake admitted.

"Then you'd better go ahead and find out."

"I will."

As he killed the Codec link, Snake heard a loud groan, and trained his FAMAS on the source. A Genome Soldier lurched around the corner, reaching for some unseen support. His voice was laced with a fear that was uncommon to combat and more often seen in horror movies.

_"It's...it's a ghost...!"_ That's all he managed to say before collapsing from his wounds. Blood expanded from underneath him, marking his resting spot.

Snake moved slowly, weapon at his shoulder, looking over each of the fallen soldiers. They were his enemies, yes, but even somebody as cold as Solid Snake wouldn't kill somebody this graphically. He wanted to spare a mercy bullet for each man, but knew he wasn't here on a humanitarian mission. Besides, he didn't have the bullets to spare for that type of thing.

More gunshots echoed through the hellish hallway, and Snake rushed to the source, rolling around the corner and coming to a knee, his eyes searching for a target through open-iron sights.

Solid Snake had seen a lot of things in combat, but he hadn't seen this.

A man lay, suspended in air, his French assault rifle out of reach and useless at this point. He twitched as an unseen force kept him afloat, before tossing him in the air and bringing down the invisible blade on his midsection, severing him in half. As the torso rolled toward Snake, the force became visible, and took on the shape of the cyborg ninja. He paused, as if noticing Snake was there, then strutted inside of the destroyed level four door, the door's shutting seemingly much louder than usual.

As the ninja stepped into the room, Snake heard a beep. He glanced at his radar and saw that while the cyborg was in the room, his radar had been jammed. The warrior shot a look at the destructed door, suddenly concerned for Dr. Emmerich. While he wasn't one for stereotypes, Snake had a feeling that a nuclear scientist wouldn't be much of a fighter.

Still in a state of shell shock, Snake moved toward the door, cautiously stepping inside.

Hal Emmerich was having the worst day of his life.

Roughly seven hours earlier, the soldiers assigned to protect the project captured all the essential personnel and killed the others. Any who tried to resist had been put down. For the past seven hours, Emmerich had been forced to complete the final preparations for Metal Gear. If he slacked off, the guards would knock him around, sometimes even evolving to full-scale beatings. Those were usually stopped by the woman, Sniper Wolf, but soon after, her kindness would fade away as she would scathingly tell him to get back to work.

Now, the men assigned to protect/incarcerate him had been killed, all in a span of forty-five seconds, and the killer was moving in on him.

Emmerich was on his ass, crab-walking into a corner to stay away from the stealth wraith. As he hit a wall, the wraith turned off his stealth camouflage, revealing a blue and red exoskeleton. The cyborg wielded a wicked three-foot katana, and glared upon him through two narrow slits, both glowing a soft orange, like a fresh cigarette.

This was too much for Emmerich. He let himself go. Literally. Steaming hot, all over his pants.

"S-st-stealth camouflage...?" he managed to stammer, looking at the man in the exoskeleton. "Who are you?"

"Where is my friend?" the cyborg inquired. His voice was scratchy, robotic, free of humanity.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" Emmerich asked, a tear racing down the side of his face.

Another stranger stepped into the room, about seven feet from the cyborg. Emmerich changed glances to the newcomer and asked aloud, "...oh, what next?"

The cyborg ninja turned slowly, already knowing the new man wouldn't attack. Not yet. _"Snake!"_ he greeted knowingly, almost elated to see him.

Snake pointed at him. "You're that ninja..." he grunted.

"I've been waiting for you, Snake!" the Ninja said, the grin underneath his mask apparent from his tone.

"Who are you?" Snake demanded.

"Neither enemy nor friend." The Ninja brought his arm across his chest, then flung it back for emphasis. "I am back from a world where such words are meaningless." The Ninja paused, assuming a casual pose. "I have removed all obstacles. Now, you and I will battle to the death."

Removed all obstacles...could this be Deepthroat? Snake wondered. "What do you want?"

"I have waited a long time for this day." Ninja took a step forward. "Now I want to enjoy the moment."

"What's with these guys?" Emmerich asked aloud, tears now freely staining his face. "It's like one of my Japanese animes..."

Ninja looked back to Emmerich, as if wishing to express his disgust at the slob of a man, then dismissed him, turning back to Snake. "I have come from another world to do battle with you."

Snake sighed, asking, "What is it? Revenge?"

"It is nothing so trivial as revenge. A fight to the death with you...only in that can my soul find respite!" Ninja brought his sword to the ready position in front of him, ready to deflect an attack. "I will kill you...or you will kill me. It makes no difference."

Emmerich screamed, managing to find the strength to spring to his feet and rush to a locker, sliding the door shut and locking himself inside. The Ninja watched, and seemed to find it somewhat amusing.

"Ha! Fine. He can watch from inside there!"

Snake assumed his battle stance, FAMAS at the ready. "I need that man. Keep your hands off of him!"

The Ninja began slashing his sword through the air in elaborate movements. "Now...make me feel it! Make me feel alive again!"

As the Ninja began to charge, Snake let out an unearthly growl, letting his finger depress the FAMAS's trigger. The rifle kicked into his shoulder, spitting out twenty-five rounds in roughly a second and a half. Twenty-five 5.56mm x 45 NATO rounds would be more than enough to kill a normal man. In fact, it would have been overkill.

The Ninja had managed to block every single bullet with his katana. Sparks had taken flight as steel met lead. Snake froze, scared for the first time in a long while. After a moment, his instincts brought him back down to earth, just in time to see the Ninja charging him with the sword, bringing it over his head to deliver a decapitating blow. The FOX-HOUND veteran had no other option, and offered his FAMAS as a sacrifice. The blade swam through the stamp metal, slicing it in half and rendering it useless.

"Snake..." the Ninja taunted, "...you can't defeat me with a weapon like _that!"_

_No shit...if I figure out a way to kill a man with a dismantled assault rifle, I'll let you know._

The Ninja charged, sword up and searching for another target. Thinking on his feet, Snake started drawing his FAMAS magazines from his combat webbing, throwing them one by one at the Ninja, forcing him to divert his attention to avoid being hit in the head. Like a trained swordsman, the Ninja caught each magazine with his sword, slicing it in half.

When the FOX-HOUND commando came to the last magazine, his right hand gripped a stun grenade and let the spoon go. He hurled the clip with his left hand, then threw the distraction device at the ground, sprinting toward the Ninja. The magnesium-based grenade expended its non lethal package, blinding the cyborg long enough for Snake to sprint for cover and draw his SOCOM. The Codec screamed in his ear, and he answered it.

"What?" he hissed, not wanting to be discovered.

"He's just playing with you," Master Miller stated.

"What the hell does that mean?" Snake demanded.

"He's just playing with you," Miller repeated. "Why don't you try throwing away your weapons?"

Before Snake could reply, Master Miller had disconnected. As the Ninja regained his orientation, the words played again in Snake's head.

He's just playing with you. Why don't you try throwing away your weapons?

Reluctantly, he slid the SOCOM back in its holster, then took a deep breath.

What he was about to do was damn near suicidal-and the only way to save Dr. Emmerich from the attacker.

Snake sprinted from cover, his eyes locking on the Ninja. As he turned around, barely regaining his senses, Snake slammed into the Ninja, forcing him against a wall. With a flurry of blows, Snake struck the Ninja in the back of the neck, the kidneys, and the ribs, trying to break something, anything. His hands became raw, despite the fact that Snake's gloves were padded, and it felt like he was repeatedly punching steel.

The Ninja spun around with inhuman speed, elbowing Snake in the face, then drove his knee into Snake's groin, doubling him over. He leapt into the air, landing behind Snake, putting his blade to Snake's neck. The FOX-HOUND commando froze, knowing he slipped up.

"Good!" the Ninja praised. "Now we can fight as warriors!" He swung his arm around, sliding the katana into a sheath on his back. "Hand to hand! It is the basis of _all_ combat. Only a _fool_ trusts his life to a_ weapon!"_

Snake, a student of Close Quarters Combat, a system that his former commander and two-time nemesis Big Boss developed along with an unknown co-contributor, as well as a student of martial arts systems such as Tae Kwon Do and ninjitsu, sensed an advantage, and took it, striking with a powerful back kick to the Ninja's solar plexus. The cyborg snatched the foot and began to twist it. To avoid breaking his ankle, Snake jumped in the air, turning with his foot and eating tile.

The Ninja took to the air, possessing enough hang-time to make Michael Jordan look like a decommissioned plane. Snake scrambled out of the way as the Ninja came down hard, bringing enough force to kill Snake, had he not moved. He leapt to his feet, assuming his basic CQC stance. It was now that he wished that whoever designed his Sneaking Suit had allowed for greater mobility, because CQC required a lot of free movement. His list of moves would be severely limited, but Snake had to make do.

He _would_ make do.

Solid Snake didn't have a choice.

The warriors stormed at each other, fists clenched and ready to strike. The Ninja swung at Snake, a blow that the latter was barely able to deflect. Snake twisted the arm around and tried to shove it up the Ninja's back, but the Ninja countered by jumping up and over Snake, landing with his arm clamped on Snake's larynx. The Ninja pulled no punches, immediately cutting off Snake's air supply. The FOX-HOUND commando struggled, trying to depress on the nerve in the elbow that would loosen the grip. Apparently, the exoskeleton protected this nerve, leaving him out of luck.

As things began to black out, the Ninja moved his head close to Snake's ear, whispering, "Pathetic! You're not the Solid Snake I remember..."

In a last ditch effort to escape, Snake jumped on the wall and ran two steps up. He hoped that the Ninja tried to predict his move and block his escape to the right. Once he felt the pressure in that direction, Snake shoved off hard to the left, breaking the hold and landing with a thud on the ground. He rubbed his throat, trying to find his breath again.

"That's good, Snake!" the Ninja praised, slowly approaching his enemy.

Snake snapped his eyes to meet the Ninja, bloodlust and murder quickly filling his eyes. He howled as he rushed the Ninja, attacking with powerful but controlled blows. Apparently, the exoskeleton also improved agility and reflexes, and as Snake threw his punches, Ninja's hand was there to block it. Halfway through the barrage, the Ninja began attacking with his feet, forcing Snake to multitask. All of his mental training, from his Special Forces training, to his Delta Force training, and especially to his FOX-HOUND training, had seemingly prepared him for this moment.

An opening!

Snake struck with a low blow to the groin, then followed with a malicious uppercut, powerful enough to knock the Ninja back at least seven feet. The commando kept his stance, waiting for Ninja to come back and charge. Snake was more of a defensive fighter, and if he could force the Ninja to make the first move, he'd be playing on Snake's territory, not his own.

The Ninja disappeared, and Snake looked around frantically, not wanting to be caught with his pants down. Half a second later, he reappeared at the center of the room.

"That's good, Snake!" Ninja praised. He assumed a fighting stance, and suddenly, he vanished. "Hurry up and catch me!"

A thought rose to the surface of his mind._ IFF._

_IFF! Why the hell am I thinking about Independent Friendly Fire? There's no gun cameras around!_

_"Too slow!"_ the Ninja's voice called, appearing behind him and kicking him square in the chest. Snake flew through the air, landing on a desk, sliding backwards and destroying a computer in the progress. Ninja moved in, running toward Snake. Scrambling, Snake grabbed the nearest object-an old fashioned PlayStation game console circa 1998-and smashed it into the Ninja's face, the impact enough to force the Ninja to cry out.

_Thank God for Sony,_ Snake thought, rolling off the table and snap-kicking the Ninja in the ribs, forcing him back. As he went in for a punch, the Ninja disappeared again, and Snake hit the cubicle wall. He rubbed his hand in frustration, biting his tongue.

_"I'm here, Snake!"_ the Ninja taunted. Again, IFF took control of his mind.

_Quickly...process IFF...program designed to distinguish friend from foe...recently developed for unmanned machines...only can be used on jets and machine guns, to this point...uses thermal signatures to lock onto targets... _

_Wait a second..._

Snake scrambled for his AN/TVS-7 thermal imagery device and slipped them over his head. The Ninja was already charging and closing the distance. The commando lunged to his right, dodging the clothesline and leaving his left leg extended, tripping the Ninja. He tried to recover with a flip, but didn't have enough room between Snake's leg and the wall, and he crashed violently. Snake turned around and ran full speed to the Ninja, cocking his leg back to smash his adversary's head into the wall. As his foot closed the gap, Ninja vanished again, reappearing twenty feet from Snake. When he pulled his thermal goggles off of his eyes to see if he was still invisible, Snake found that he wasn't.

Ninja had assumed a kneeling position, electricity cackling about his body. He clenched a fist so hard that it shook, and looked to Snake.

"Like old times?" he asked, before looking to the ground again. When he raised his head again, his resolve was doubled. _"I've been waiting for this pain!"_

Snake stood his ground as the Ninja sauntered over, fists at his side, a certain confidence in his step. He got within range of Snake's punch, and stood still as the commando swung at him. When the fist was within inches of connection, the Ninja disappeared, and Snake panicked, going for his thermal goggles. Before he could get the strap undone, the Ninja reappeared, delivering a devastating power punch from behind, knocking Snake to the ground.

The FOX-HOUND veteran stumbled to his feet as the Ninja repeated the walk. He had an idea what the pattern would be, and waited for the Ninja to close the distance. Like a proper boxer, Snake jabbed with his left fist, waiting for the cyborg to disappear. When he reappeared, Snake waited a moment, waiting for the opportune time.

_Now!_

Snake leaned to his left, allowing the fist to pass harmlessly over his shoulder. He grabbed the arm, raised it over his own head, then brought it down fiercely on his shoulder, instantly dislocating the Ninja's shoulder at the elbow. The cyborg took a knee, grabbing his right arm with his left, then pulled hard, relocating the arm instantly without a protest.

_"Hurt me more!"_ he cried out, before standing again and walking to Snake.

Again, the FOX-HOUND operative jabbed, but this time, he turned around, meeting the Ninja with a sideways hammerfist to the temple, stunning the cyborg and compelling him to take a knee.

_Only one man ever fell for that move..._Snake thought, surprised by its effectiveness.

_"More! MORE!"_ the Ninja cried out.

The Ninja broke routine and lashed out with a spinning kick, but at this point, his speed had been effectively lowered. Snake dodged the kick with ease and slammed his fist into the Ninja's face, half-expecting him to vanish before the blow. He took a knee again, and began speaking again.

_"Do you remember, Snake?"_ he asked his opponent. _"The FEEL of battle? The clashing of BONE and SINEW?"_

The Ninja stood, the energy seeming sapped from him. He tried to approach Snake, but a snap kick to his ribs forced him to his knees.

"That's good, Snake..."

This time, the cyborg tried to stumble to his feet, but fell face-first. Snake approached the body, attempting to ascertain whether or not he was dead. As soon as he touched the body, the Ninja came back to life, animated with a shriek from Hell. Snake was thrown back at least ten feet, sliding through a window and smashing hard into a supercomputer. He forced himself to his feet, looking at the Ninja, suspended within a blue ball of electricity.

_"Hurt me more!"_ the cyborg cried out.

Snake drew his SOCOM and fired off three quick shots, striking the Ninja in the chest. He came back to the ground, then vanished, reappearing feet away from Snake. The electrical burst fried the rest of the supercomputers, and the shockwave nearly threw Snake aside again. When the Ninja had revealed himself, Snake had taken a leap backward, training his SOCOM on the target and firing off another five rounds. They all hit their target, but apparently were being deflected by the exoskeleton.

_That's all right. He'll still feel the impact. But who is he? Why is he so familiar?_

The cyborg went invisible again, and showed up in the upper-right corner from the room, if you were looking at it from the entrance. Snake charged the blue ball of energy, firing his last four rounds at the Ninja. They stuck home again, and the cyborg came down, taking a knee and breathing heavily. Snake slammed a fresh clip home and trained it on the Ninja.

"I felt that, Snake..." he wheezed, forcing himself to his feet.

_I felt that, Snake. My God..._

"Do you remember me now?" the cyborg asked, standing tall.

Snake lowered his gun. Shock and disbelief overtook him, shook him to his very core. "It can't be..." the commando muttered. "Y-you were killed in Zanzibar..."

The two old friends stared at each other for a moment, each trying to figure out why the Ninja was there, and why he was still alive. Suddenly, the cyborg seized, shaking uncontrollably, crying to the heavens.

_"Gggggggggyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!"_

"What!" Snake exclaimed. "Not again!"

_"The-the-the mediciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinne!"_ the cyborg screamed, collapsing on all fours. Unexpectedly, he began to slam his head into the floor, full force, as if trying to crack his skull open and tear out his gray matter.

_"What's happening?" Snake asked loudly._

Between head pounds, the Ninja answered, "I'm...I'm...I'm losing myself..."

Snake took a step back, surprised at what his old friend had become. Another moment of tense silence passed where neither man spoke. They looked at each other solemnly, both of them still trying to answer the question.

From within the locker, a scared, high-pitched voice asked, "...is it over?"

Those words seemed to trigger the Ninja, who shot to his feet and screamed again. Snake froze, not knowing what to do. Before any decision could be made, the Ninja turned heel and sprinted for the entrance, leaping into the air and flipping once, disappearing from view and leaving the room. Stunned by what he just saw, Snake took a knee and keyed Colonel Campbell.

"Gray Fox..." Snake choked, looking at the ground. His sharp countenance was paled and aged, himself taking on the qualities of a horror actor, but for a much different reason. The fighting style...the taunts...the power of the blow...all of them reminded him of... "Colonel, that Ninja is Gray Fox." The commando looked his CO in the eyes. "No doubt about it."

Colonel Campbell frowned. "Ridiculous! You of all people should know he died in Zanizbar!"

Dr. Naomi Hunter butted in. "No. He should have died...but he didn't."

"What?" Campbell asked incredulously.

"It happened before I joined FOX-HOUND's medical staff," Naomi stated. "They were using a soldier for their gene therapy experiments."

"I never heard that!" Campbell thundered.

"It happened right after you retired," Naomi informed the Colonel, before continuing on. "My predecessor, Dr. Clark, was in charge."

"Dr. Clark..." Campbell mused aloud. An introverted man, obsessed with his job, never popular with the FOX-HOUND members, and a stickler for protocol. It was safe to say that during his tenure as FOX-HOUND's medical chief, Dr. Clark was the most hated man of the unit.

"Yes," Naomi confirmed. "He started the gene therapy project."

"And where is he now?" Snake asked, hoping DIA could get some feelers out on the guy and ask him about his creation.

"He was killed in an explosion in his lab two years ago."

_Damn. So much for that lead._ "So, what about this soldier?"

"Apparently," Naomi said, "they decided to use the body of a soldier who was recovered after the fall of Zanzibar."

"And that was Gray Fox," Snake said, completing the sentence. Naomi nodded.

"But he was already dead!" Campbell interjected in protest.

"Yes," Naomi said curtly. "But they revived him." Her voice took on a venomous tone. "They fitted him with a prototype exoskeleton and kept him drugged for four years while they experimented on him like a plaything." After taking a breath, Naomi settled with a curt tone. "Today's Genome Soldiers were born from those experiments."

Campbell lowered his head in disgust. "That's the sickest thing I've ever heard..."

"They used him to test all sorts of gene therapy techniques," Naomi informed both soldiers.

"Naomi," Snake asked, his eyes narrowing, "why didn't you tell us about this sooner?"

Naomi stared him in the eye, giving the response she had trained herself to memorize. "Because it's confidential information."

_The hell it is,_ Snake thought angrily. "Is that the only reason?" he baited. Her eyes narrowed in silent rage, before Campbell inserted himself back into the conversation.

"Naomi, what happened to Gray Fox after that?"

"The records say that he died in the explosion."

"I see...but even if that Ninja is Gray Fox, the question is, why?"

"From what I could tell," Snake offered, "he didn't know who he was."

"Are you saying that he's just some mindless robot?" Campbell inquired.

"I'm not sure," Snake grimaced, "but he seems intent on fighting me to the death." A deathly pause. "We'll meet again...I know it."

Naomi came back on screen. "So you'll fight again...until you kill him?"

"Hmmm...I'd rather not...but maybe that's what he wants."

Naomi and Snake stared daggers again, and he sensed hidden themes beneath her words. But for now, that wasn't the concern. There was still the Emmerich issue to deal with.

Sixteen hours and forty-five minutes until doomsday.

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_I know I'm being real slow with updates (an understatement if there's ever been one) but with adulthood closing in close (I'm going to Reserve Basic Training in July or August, then going active duty a year after that) I'm starting to find my time to screw around is quickly running out. So, when I'm not working on my various original short stories or attempting to get a novel off the ground, I will be working a LOT on this._

_Also, in this chapter, I broke one of my own rules and took a lot of liberties, mostly in action, but a few in the Ninja's taunts. I had a gut instinct to try and vamp this up. Besides, watching nothing but Snake going "punch-punch-kick" would get kinda dull after a while. I've got a job now, so once I get a TV, probably a TV/VCR combo, if not a TV and a VCR, I'll be hard at work pumping out chapters in my spare time, trying to get this done in two and a half months, and if not then, I'll take a two month breather at BCT and then when I get settled back in Arizona, I'll get this done before I enter "The World." You have my assurances of that._

_At this point, I'd like to thank all the faithful readers that have made this story the success that it is so far. I'd also like to thank, in particular, Chicken Fox, Pablosky, The Written Word, and all the reviewers that I know on a personal basis, for being there and helping my writing along._

_Plus, I'd like to propose something. No, I'm not asking you if you'll marry me. I'm not ready for that type of commitment. But back on topic, how many people would like to see a sequel to Justice for a Snake, my Mack Bolan/Solid Snake crossover? Include your opinion with your comments on this chapter. Any input is appreciated it._

_I'll see you again-Same Snake Time, Same Snake Channel!_

_-Steven Hildreth, Jr.  
San Antonio, TX  
April 28, 2005 _


	15. Otacon

Solid Snake stood from his kneeling position, approaching the lockers where Dr. Emmerich had hidden. He briefly remembered how the good doctor had had some bladder trouble upon encountering the Ninja and smiled wryly. Snake shook it off and stood in front of the locker, still hearing Emmerich's sporadic murmuring from within.

"How long are you gonna stay in there?" Snake asked.

There was a pause. "Huh...are you one of them?" Emmerich asked in reply.

Snake put his hands on his hips. "No, I'm not...I always work alone."

"Alone?" Emmerich asked. "Are you an Otaku, too?"

_What the hell is an Otaku?_ Snake mused. "C'mon," he growled impatiently. "Get out. We can't stay here forever."

The locker slid open, and the scared doctor slowly beheld the warrior before him. "Your uniform's different than theirs," Emmerich noted.

"You're the Metal Gear chief engineer, Hal Emmerich, right?" Snake asked.

Emmerich stood, a slight glimmer of hope portrayed in his blue eyes. He pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. "You know me?"

"I heard about you from Meryl," Snake announced.

"Oh...so you're here to rescue me?" The hope had multiplied ten-fold.

Snake allowed a rueful grin. "Sorry, but no. There's something I've got to do first."

Emmerich drooped his head slightly. "Oh...well, at least you're not one of them." He began limping toward the workstations to verify their status.

"Huh...are you hurt?" Snake asked.

"I'm okay," Emmerich confirmed. "I just twisted my ankle a little bit trying to get away."

"Well, if that's all, it's nothing to worry about." Snake had completed many a mission with twisted and sprained ankles. During Delta Force training, in the final selection event, Snake had hiked thirty-five of his forty miles on a twisted left ankle. For thirty-six hours straight, Snake hiked over mountainous terrain, avoiding animals other natural hazards to complete his objective. Snake knew much could be done on a twisted ankle.

Snake looked to Emmerich for a moment, deciding it was time for a test. "I want to ask you something. I need information about Metal Gear."

Emmerich adjusted his glasses again. "Huh? Metal Gear?"

"Yeah...what's Metal Gear _really_ designed for?"

"It's a mobile TMD," Emmerich explained, hoping Snake knew that TMD stood for Theater Missile Defense. "It's designed to shoot down nuclear missiles...only for defensive purposes, of course."

Suddenly, Snake snatched Emmerich by his lab coat and pulled him close, nearly taking him off the ground. "_Liar!_" he snarled. "I already know that Metal Gear is nothing but a nuclear equipped walking death mobile!" He shook the doctor a couple of times, trying to jar him to reality.

"N-n-nuclear...?" Emmerich stammered. "W-wh-what are you talking about?"

"The terrorists are planning to use Metal Gear to launch a nuclear missile," Snake continued, bringing Emmerich's face closer to his, increasing the intimidation fact. "You telling me you didn't know?"

Fear rose in Emmerich's eyes. "They're going to put a dismantled warhead into Metal Gear's TMD missile module?"

"Wrong!" Snake snapped. "From the beginning, the purpose of this exercise was to test Metal Gear's nuclear launch capability using a dummy nuclear warhead. The terrorists are just continuing the work-" he shoved Emmerich back a good seven feet, forcing the doctor to collide with one of the cubicles "-_you_ started!"

Emmerich regained his balance, one arm hooked on the cubicle, the other going to adjust his glasses. "No!" he stuttered. "You're wrong!"

"I heard it directly from your boss, Baker."

Shame overtook Dr. Emmerich, and he looked to the ground, shaking his head in disbelief. "No...a nuclear missile on Rex?"

Snake started to calm down slightly. "So you really didn't know?"

"No..." Emmerich affirmed. "All the armament was built by a separate department, and the president personally supervised the final assembly of the main unit."

Snake's blood chilled. "President Baker?"

Emmerich nodded. "Yeah. I was never exactly told what they armed Rex with. I-I only know it's equipped with a vulcan cannon, a laser, and a rail gun."

Snake cocked an eyebrow, motioning for Emmerich to follow him to the cubicle where the Ninja had revealed his true identity. Emmerich took a seat and Snake rested against the desk. "A rail gun, you said?"

"Yeah. It uses magnets to fire bullets at extremely high velocities. The technology was originally developed for the SDI system and later scrapped. We were successful in miniaturizing it in a joint venture between ArmsTech and Rivermore National Labs. The rail gun is on Rex's right arm."

Snake crossed his arms as Emmerich looked on, watching the doctor's thought process written all over his face. "Metal Gear's main function is to launch nuclear missiles," Snake coaxed. "You _sure_ you're not forgetting something?"

"It's true that Metal Gear has a missile module on his back that can carry up to eight missiles, but are you saying it was originally meant to carry _nuclear_ missiles?"

The FOX-HOUND veteran nodded. "Yeah. But that's not all I think. If Metal Gear fired only standard nuclear missiles, then they should already have all the practical data they need."

This statement caused the doctor to look at the wall in shock, before shooting to his feet. "No..." he gasped. "Could it be?"

Snake took a step forward, an inquisitive look in his eyes. Emmerich turned to face the warrior and explained, "Metal Gear's co-developer, Rivermore National Labs, was working on a new type of nuclear weapon. They were using NOVA and NIF laser nuclear fusion testing equipment, and supercomputers."

"So," Snake concluded, "they developed a new type of nuclear weapon in a VR testing lab, huh?"

Emmerich looked hesitant. "Yes...but you can't use virtual data on a battlefield. You would need actual _launch_ data." The doctor motioned toward the other side of the room and Snake followed. They stopped in front of huge metal boxes that had been destroyed in the struggle between Gray Fox and Solid Snake.

"They are some of the supercomputers," Emmerich said. "If you link these, you can test everything in a virtual environment, but it's all just theoretical."

"So this exercise was designed to test the real thing?" Snake inquired, checking the extensive damage the supercomputers had taken.

Not a word passed between the two polar opposite for a moment. Snake continued to inspect the supercomputers. After a moment, Emmerich suddenly broke the silence.

"What did our president do?" he exclaimed. "If the terrorists launch that thing..."

Emmerich dropped to his knees, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. With all the might he could muster-which wasn't much-he slammed his palm into the ground. "Damn! Damn!"

Snake turned to see the blubbering doctor and gave him a strange look. "I'm such a fool!" Emmerich continued. "It's all my fault!" He sobbed a few more seconds, and Snake kept his silence. Dr. Emmerich was obviously one of those softer men who went against the masculine stereotype, and supposed that he needed a few moments to collect himself.

Emmerich slowly turned to face Snake, staring with bloodshot eyes. "The truth is...my grandfather was a part of the Manhattan Project. He suffered with the guilt for the rest of his life. And my father...he was born on August 6th, 1945."

Snake nodded in acknowledgement. "The day of the Hiroshima bomb..." he grunted. "God's got a sense of humor, all right."

The two men walked closer to the lockers where Emmerich had sought refuge. "Three generations of Emmerich men...we must have the curse of nuclear weapons written into our DNA." He took a pause, then the dam burst. "I used to think that I could use science to help mankind...but the one that wound up getting used was me. Using science to help mankind...that's just in the movies..." He began to sniffle again.

_God, he's pathetic..._Snake mused. _It's time to draw a line._ "That's enough crying!" he barked in a tone that would have made Master Miller proud. "Pull yourself together! Where is Metal Gear? Where on this base are they keeping it?"

"Rex is in the underground maintenance base," Emmerich stammered like a green private.

"Where is that?"

"North of the Communications Tower...but it's a long way there."

"The emergency override system for the detonation code is there, too?"

"Yeah, in the maintenance base's control room. You'd better hurry. If they were planning a launch from the start, then their ballistic program is probably finished, and since they haven't called for me in a few hours, they must not need me. In other words, they must be ready to launch."

"Meryl's got the detonation code override keys," Snake announced. "We'll link up with her."

"If we can't override the launch," Emmerich said, "we'll have to destroy Rex." He began limping toward the door. "I'll show you the way."

"On that leg of yours?" Snake scoffed. "You'll just slow me down."

"You'll need me if you're gonna destroy Rex," Emmerich insisted.

"I don't need _you_," Snake pointed out. "I just need _your brain_."

"I created Rex. It's my right...my duty to destroy him."

The two men looked each other in the eye. Snake didn't feel like baby-sitting a scientist, so he tried another tactic to get rid of him. "If you get a chance, try to escape. When the coast is clear, I'll contact you by Codec."

Emmerich gave the warrior a cynical eyebrow. "How am I supposed to escape from an island?"

Snake grunted, realizing the error of his suggestion. "Okay."

Emmerich got the point of the suggestion, however. "So what, then?"

"I want you to hide somewhere and keep me informed. You know this place well, don't you?"

The doctor gave a proud smirk. "Of course I do. And don't worry-I've got this." He reached inside his jacket and twisted, disappearing before Snake's eyes. The FOX-HOUND commando would have panicked had he not already seen the trick done already. "It's the same stealth technology as the Ninja. FOX-HOUND was going to use them, but...with this, I'll be fine, bad leg and all."

Snake nodded approvingly. "Good. But I want Meryl to watch after you, too." He took a knee and dialed 140.15.

"Yes?" Meryl asked upon answering her Codec.

"Meryl, the engineer's okay," Snake told her.

"That's a relief," she said with a grin.

"I want you to watch after him. Where are you now?"

"Very close..." she said.

A voice in the background barked, "There she is! Over there!" Automatic gunfire erupted.

"Oh, no!" she snapped. "Damn! They've spotted me!" Snake heard a _pop_ and then the screen went static.

"_Meryl!_" he snarled. "_What happened!_" He waited for a response, then shut off the Codec link, standing and facing the doctor. "Something's wrong..."

"Did you hear something?" Emmerich inquired. "Wasn't that some kind of music?"

Snake looked at Emmerich, who had taken a seat and was wearing a semi-proud grin on his face. Somehow, he had managed to hack the Codec frequency with his own Codec and listen into the conversation. Snake didn't bother to ask that question, instead asking, "What did she look like?"

"She...she was wearing the same green uniform as the terrorists..." Emmerich looked to the ceiling, crossing his arms and recalling his memory.

"A disguise?" Snake inquired. He thought she would have ditched that, but apparently she hadn't.

"She had such a cute way of walking...she kind of wiggles her behind..."

The image of the young woman sprinting down the hallway after the prison firefight replayed in his mind. "You were really looking..." Snake said aloud, talking to both the doctor and himself.

"Well..." Emmerich said with an embarrassed smile, "She's got a very cute behind..."

"Way of walking, huh..." Snake allowed his voice to trail off.

Emmerich broke the erotic reverie. "If she's disguised as the enemy, you'll have to contact her when she's alone, huh? There's only one place where we can be sure she's by herself."

Snake smirked and asked innocently, "Where's that?"

Emmerich rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dense..." He rose to his feet and approached Snake. He produced a PAN card and proffered it. "Here...use this security card. It's security level four."

Snake accepted it, and watched the doctor take a step back. His mind flashed back to when the DARPA Chief had handed over his Level 1 card, and when ArmsTech President Baker handed over his Level 2 card. He replayed the heart attacks that had followed soon afterward. _Could it be something linked to the security cards...?_

"You're not in pain, are you?" Snake blurted.

"Huh?" The question had caught Emmerich off-guard.

Snake patted Emmerich on the shoulder. "You feel okay? Nothing bothering you?"

"What's wrong?" Emmerich asked, uncomfortable with the recent treatment. "Getting friendly all of a sudden?"

Snake took a step back and muttered, "Oh, nothing...I'm glad you're okay."

"You're strange..."

"I'm a little nervous. Everyone else I've saved suddenly dies."

Emmerich looked as if he had seen a leper. "You're bad luck!"

Snake smirked again. "Forget it, Doctor."

"Call me Otacon," Emmerich said.

"Otacon?" Snake inquired.

"It stands for Otaku Convention. An Otaku is a guy like me who likes Japanimation." He glanced at a poster on the wall of three cybernetic-clad men holding futuristic pistols. There was a logo that said "Policenauts" in the bottom-right hand corner. Snake thought it looked like the advertisement for a cheesy B-Movie, but said nothing as "Otacon" went on eagerly.

"Japan was the first country to successfully make bipedal robots. They're still the best in the field of robotics."

Snake cocked an eyebrow. "And Japanese cartoons played some part in that?"

"They did!" He looked at the ground, then added quickly, "I didn't get into science to make nuclear weapons, you know."

"That's what all scientists say," Snake grunted.

"I became a scientist because I wanted to make robots like the ones in the Japanese Animes." Upon seeing the incredulous look on Snake's face, he said, "Really! It's true!"

"It just sounds like a childish excuse to me," Snake announced.

Otacon's head drooped, and when he spoke again, his voice was dejected. "You're right. We have to take responsibility. Science has always thrived on war. The greatest weapons of mass destruction were created by scientists who wanted to be famous. But that's all over now. I won't take part in murder anymore."

Snake sighed and looked off to the side, before eyeing Otacon again. "Whatever. All I want from _you_ is information."

"Sure. I know everything about this whole base. Ask me anything about Rex or about this place. Also, with this stealth camouflage, I can sneak in and out of the armory and mess hall. If you need ammo or rations, just tell me and I'll bring them to you."

Otacon turned on his stealth again. "I'm on frequency 141.12. See ya later!"

Snake listened as Otacon began limping away, gradually finding that his foot was not as badly injured as initially thought. He took up a normal stride, then graduated to a jog, and eventually a run. He paused at the door, waited for it to open, then rushed through the door, leaving Snake by himself.

Sixteen hours and thirty-five minutes until doomsday.

_Hey, all! I know I haven't updated in a long, long time. Part of it was the fact that I had no VCR and therefore no way to record the gameplay to ensure accurate dialogue and motions. Part of it was that during the summer, I had attempted to do an independent movie and had thrown all my time and money into that. And another part of it was that I was too damn lazy to start up again. But here I am. I'm just letting you all know that I'm not dead, and I'm not in the Army yet (thanks to my mom...if you want to hear me bitch about that, ask Chicken Fox, Shade Wolf, or just e-mail me), and that I _will_ finish this novelization!_

And with the unveiling of Metal Gear Solid 4, we know that Meryl lives. However, I am going to write the story as if she dies. I feel that this ending gives further depth to Solid Snake's character than the true ending. I know some will rejoice and some will jeer, but I hope all tune in and read as I finish this piece.

One last note: I ask all of you to please read my original works at FictionPress (under the same user name) and review them. I think if you like my Metal Gear work, you will like my original stuff. Plus, with Hurricane Rita with its eye on Texas, I do not know when the next time I will be able to update will be. It would be a pleasant surprise to find Internet again and see that my works have been reviewed.

Well, that's my two cents for now. God Bless and thank you to those who have been with me on this project since the beginning.

Steven Hildreth, Jr.  
San Antonio, Texas  
September 22, 2005 


	16. Letter to the Fans

Hey there, readers…I figured I would drop a line here regarding the status of this novelization. I figured I owed it to you guys to explain the reasoning behind the delay.

I received this review from FFNET reader EREICH:

_mate when are you going to finish this? I know you'll think I am a total dork, but I have been hanging for the rest for the last 7 yrs now. I have read the OFFICIAL metal gear solid novel and the metal gear solid 2 novel and have uploaded the metal gear solid 4 novel onto the kindle reader on my laptop but __i thought the official metal gear solid and metal gear solid 2 novels were both complete rubbish. they didn't once sway from the script of the games. at least your fan fiction adds a bit of depth and a look behind the scenes that the official novels didn't quite offer enough of_

It really tears at me. Because the truth is, every time I see that game, I get the urge to come back and finish what I started. But, as life goes, sometimes we have to take a round-about path.

Since I've started this novelization, I have:

-graduated high school  
-joined the military  
-served in Iraq  
-left the military  
-attempted college twice  
-return to active duty, after a fashion  
-left active duty again  
-published a novella  
-retracted the novella to convert it into a full length novel (current)  
-attempted countless novels of original fiction

It is safe to say that I all but abandoned fan fiction for a shot at a career as a professional writer. But there have been times where I sat down, ready to start attempting the novelization again, and even had my word processor open, only to abandon it at the last minute to pursue my original fiction.

Now, you're probably thinking this dialogue thus far means I'm breaking the news to you that I'm not going to finish it.

You would be absolutely wrong.

When I said I would return to it someday, I _meant_ it. And especially after reading EREICH's review, the fire to complete it is burning, alive and well. I just have some other obligations I have to tend to first. But mark my words—I will return to this piece and I will get it done.

Because EREICH was absolutely right—the official novelizations for MGS1 and MGS2 were total crap. I expected much more out of Raymond Benson, who did remarkable work with the James Bond series. I read the novelization while I was in Iraq and I was infuriated at his lack of craft and absence of dedication to his work. The game deserves a better novelization. The players deserve a better novelization. YOU deserve a better novelization.

So allow me to assure you, this WILL get done. And if all goes well, I will be starting it up again after I finish the novel I am currently working on. Just hang in there.

Thank you for your patience and support through all of this time. It has not been forgotten, nor has it been taken for granted.

Steven Hildreth, Jr.  
Tucson, AZ  
July 6th, 2012


	17. Meryl

IT TOOK SEVEN MINUTES for Snake to backtrack to the elevator. Once he arrived, he waited off to the side, and once the elevator announced its arrival, he cleared the inside, just in case reinforcements had been sent to support the squad that Gray Fox had slaughtered on his way to Dr. Emmerich. That he met zero resistance on the way back bothered Snake. The security around Emmerich had been airtight, and their commander would have been foolish not to demand regular situation reports. Liquid had to have an interest in the detail guarding the one man who could neutralize their bargaining chip. It smelled like a trap, but to what end, Snake could not place his finger on.

When the elevator arrived at the first floor basement, Snake stayed out of sight and held his SOCOM at the ready. An empty hallway greeted him, which encouraged him to move to the edge and peer down the hallway, towards the women's bathroom. He checked his Soliton and saw that he was clear to his six. There was a guard in the men's room and two patrolling the offices. Snake exhaled and sprinted towards the women's bathroom, taking cover behind one of the pillars.

Snake had weighed his options on his way to the first floor basement. A proactive approach would allow him to find Meryl faster, but it left him more exposed. Despite his skill, if he were caught, Snake could not guarantee that he could differentiate between Meryl and the male guards in the middle of a firefight. On the other hand, a passive approach would literally bring Meryl right to him, and in the event that he encountered another female soldier, it would be a one-on-one fight, rather than three-on-one with reinforcements to come.

Eerie, hypnotic music flowed through loudspeakers. Snake's brow furrowed as he lit up a smokeless cigarette and took a drag. He had not heard the music anywhere else in the complex. _Maybe a quirk of the detail leader?_ Snake wondered. Something about it creeped him out, but he pushed it from his mind. With his cigarette pressed between his lips, Snake grabbed his binoculars and surveyed the other end of the hallway.

A guard emerged from the men's bathroom, his gait content as he made his way back to his post. Another few moments passed, then a second guard left the bullpen and hung a left at the elevator door. His stride was normal and he was headed in the wrong direction. Snake now had visual confirmation of two-thirds of the guard force, both males. He hoped that there was some sort of break rotation in place, which would mean the next person would be Meryl, if she was even on the first floor basement.

That thought gave Snake pause. What if she were on the ground level? Finding her there would be much more difficult. That would require the proactive approach that he dismissed as too risky. Additionally, Naomi's nanomachine meddling would mean guaranteed death if he were caught. Even if he were to find her on that floor, there was not a whole lot of private real estate for them to talk shop. They would either have to backtrack to the snowfield, which would move them further from the objective, or return to the first floor basement and get to the ladies' room. Both required the two of them to evade enemy patrols together, which went against his training. FOX-HOUND specifically utilized solo infiltrations for the autonomy a single operator enjoyed.

Snake's reverie was broken by the second guard leaving the restroom. He strolled back towards the offices and went inside. Thirty seconds passed before the next guard made their exit. This one immediately turned right, and walked with a different strut, her hips gyrating with every step. Snake slipped behind the column. He dropped his cigarette, extinguished it beneath his boot, and drew his SOCOM. His left wrist rose to his face as he watched the red dot make its way to the column. When the dot cut diagonally, Snake shifted to the side and peered around the corner. The guard's buttocks, like their hips, were decidedly female, fully rounded and sensual in movement.

Once the door closed, Snake moved to it. It would not open initially, and Snake looked around for some indication of a door level. As he reached out to touch the door, it slid open to reveal an empty bathroom. His first reaction was to call out to Meryl, but he had no idea if it really was her, her derriere notwithstanding. His thumb flicked the safety off of the H&K handgun and he moved forward. His eyes took in the entire bathroom as he moved, searching for any sign of life.

As he reached the corner of the first stall, he stood far enough away that his barrel would not graze the stall as he pied the corner. Once he was in front of the first door, he brought the SOCOM close to his chest and reached out with his support hand. Gently, he nudged the door open and came up with an empty stall. Snake looked to his left and shuffle-stepped, foot to foot, as he moved to the second door. He reached out and quietly opened the second stall door. _Nothing._ As Snake moved to the third one, he could see the door was ajar, and he took a step back and extended the SOCOM in front of him. He carefully rounded the corner and found a balaclava, a pair of olive drab fatigues, and combat boots.

The tell-tale sound of rifle movement and a safety being switched off reached Snake's ears, but by that point, it was too late for action.

"Don't move."

It was the same voice from the prison. Snake did not make any sudden movements, but the sound of her voice lowered his heart rate a few notches.

"That's the second time I've been able to sneak up on the legendary Solid Snake."

Snake lowered, safed, and holstered his pistol as he turned around. There she was, just like in the photograph that Campbell had shown up aboard the _Discovery_, her eyes tired but with the twinkle of an adolescent girl at a rock concert. She held a FAMAS in her right hand and wore nothing but a tight black tank top and gray bikini panties. There was no bra, as evidenced by the pair of solid bumps at the apex of the swell of her chest that fought against the fabric. Her legs were immaculately toned, and her arms were defined but not overly so. It took Snake a half-moment to find his words.

"_You're_ Meryl? There's no way you could pass for a man for long."

Meryl gave him a look. "What do you mean? Hey, men aren't allowed in here!"

Snake gave Meryl an evaluative second once-over. "I had no idea you were so feminine."

She rolled her eyes and looked at him with a hint of disgust. "This is no time to try and hit on me, Snake."

Without another word, Snake left the stall and made his way towards the front door, his mind off of her figure and on how she had managed to get the drop on him. By the time he reached the sinks and turned around, a tentative theory formed. _She was in the second stall. When she heard me clear the second one, she slid into the first. Once I moved for the third, she waited until I could not see her in my flank and maneuvered. Smart girl._

"Besides, it's a waste of time," Meryl said, bringing Snake back to reality. "When I joined up, they gave me psychotherapy to destroy my interest in men."

Snake pointed to Meryl. "Same smart mouth. You're Meryl, all right. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. After all, I was disguised as a Genome Soldier."

"So, why'd you change?" Snake asked. "You'd be a lot better off dressed like one of them."

Her jaw clenched as she fixed Snake with a hard look. "I got tired of disguising myself." His gaze did not waver, and Meryl faltered. Her eyes grew soft, and after a moment, she could not look him in the eye. She hung her head, and her fatigue laced her tone as she admitted, "The truth is…the uniform smelled like blood."

Snake squinted as he studied the artwork on Meryl's left arm. It looked familiar, but from his angle, he could not make it out entirely. "What's that mark?"

"Huh?" Meryl looked down at her arm, then turned it so Snake could see it head-on. It was a grinning humanized fox with a MAC-10 in one hand and an M61 grenade in the other. A cloud of smoke surrounded the barrel, and a bullet with fangs had circled its way around the fox. The logo brought memories of simpler days to the forefront of Snake's mind.

"Oh, this?" Meryl continued. "It's a paint tattoo. It's not real. I was a fan of FOX-HOUND way back, when guys like you and my uncle were in it. None of that gene therapy like there is today. You guys were _real_ heroes."

Snake shook his head. "There are no heroes in war. All the heroes I know are either dead or imprisoned. One or the other."

Meryl took a step forward and made an emphatic hand wave. "But Snake, _you're_ a hero, aren't you?"

"I'm just a man who's good at what he does: killing." He shook his head again. "There's no winning or losing for a mercenary. The only winners in war are the people."

Meryl's eyes lit up as she saw an opening to make her point. "That's right, and you fight _for_ the people!"

Snake's voice grew brittle. "I've never fought for anyone but myself. I've got no purpose in life, no ultimate goal."

Her shoulders fell as the words reached her ears. She averted her gaze once more. "C'mon…"

"It's only when I'm cheating death on the battlefield," Snake confessed. "The only time I feel truly alive."

Meryl locked eyes with him again. Hurt and anger filled her gaze and dripped from every word as she spoke. "Seeing other people die makes you feel alive, huh? You love war and don't want it to stop. Is it the same with all great soldiers throughout history?"

_She'll learn in time,_ Snake thought. He elected to redirect the conversation. "Why didn't you contact me?"

"My Codec was broken," Meryl said off-handedly.

He gave her a skeptical look and crossed his arms. "Is that all?"

She scoffed frustratedly as she turned towards the first stall's outer wall. "Shouldn't you just be happy we met up like this?" She stooped to prop her FAMAS against the wall and asked, "How did you recognize me in disguise?"

Snake looked directly at her dead giveaway physical attribute. "I never forget a lady."

Meryl cracked a smirk as she stood and faced Snake. "So, there's something you like about me, huh?"

The right corner of his mouth tugged toward his ear. "Yeah…you've got a great butt."

That merited a laugh from Meryl, and she unconsciously ran her hands over her backside. "Oh, I see. First, it's my eyes. Now, it's my butt. What's next?"

His smirk was gone as quickly as it came. "On the battlefield, you never think about what's next."

Meryl raised her eyebrows and smiled as she turned towards the first stall. When she reappeared a moment later, she held a pile of clothing and a web belt. She set it on the ground, found her fatigue trousers, and slid them over her legs. As she tucked in her tank top and fastened her pant buttons, she asked, "So, Snake, how are the negotiations going?"

Snake looked to the mirror to give Meryl a semblance of privacy. He shook his head. "No progress."

She slipped her socks over her feet, then pulled on and laced up her boots. Next, she donned her coyote brown knee pads and made sure they were snug enough that they would not slip to her ankles, but loose enough that they did not impede her range of motion. "So, it's all up to you, huh?"

He shrugged as he scratched his chin. "Somebody's gotta stop them from launching a nuclear missile."

Next came her fingerless gloves. Once those were fastened to her wrists, she picked up the pistol belt, buckled it around her waist, and then snapped the thigh holster buckles in place. Meryl tested that the holster was high enough on the hip to ensure for a faster draw, and then walked towards Snake. He turned to face her once he heard her footfalls.

"There are two ways," she said. "Either we destroy Metal Gear, or—"

"We override the detonation code," Snake finished. "You got the card keys from Baker?"

Meryl's brow furrowed. "Card keys…" She reached into her cleavage and felt around. After a moment, she produced a black piece of plastic, about the same shape as a credit card, with gold markings on a black background. "You mean this?"

Snake took it from her and inspected it as his features twisted into a scowl. "Where are the others?" he demanded. "There should be _three_ keys!"

She held up her hands. "This is all I've got!"

He lowered his tone a notch, but the frustration was present as he pocketed the card. "Where could the other two be?"

"I have no idea," Meryl confessed, "but they must be somewhere. If we can't find them, we'll have no choice but to destroy Metal Gear."

"Metal Gear is an underground maintenance base to the north," Snake said.

Meryl leaned forward, both of her hands on her sternum, one over the other. Her tone and her expression shared a pleading urgency. "Take me, too! I know this place better than you do!"

Snake gestured in the negative. "You'll just slow me down. You don't have enough battle experience."

She took another step forward and doubled down on persistence. "I _won't_ slow you down!" she said assertively. "I promise!"

"And what if you do?" Snake insisted.

Meryl took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and held her arms at her side. Her eyes were the surest that they had been in the few hours he had known her, and her voice was steady, resolute. "Then you can shoot me."

Snake gave her a hard stare, a chance to squirm, to recant her declaration. Her posture was granite. If she was scared, then she hid it well. After a moment, he saw that there was no talking her out of it. Snake made a decision, his words chilling.

"I don't like to waste bullets."

"Got it." She nodded dutifully. "I'll be careful."

A moment passed before Meryl walked over to the sink. She planted both of her hands on the counter and rest her weight on them. Her shoulders slumped and her chin dropped to her chest. A tired sigh fell from her lips. Snake turned his attention to her as she raised her head and studied her reflection in the mirror.

"You know," Meryl murmured, "I don't use makeup the way other women do. I hardly ever look at myself in the mirror." She squinted her eyes. "I've always despised that kind of woman. I always dreamed of becoming a soldier. But I was wrong. It wasn't really my dream." She averted her gaze from the mirror. "My father…he was killed in action when I was younger."

Snake took a step towards her and recalled Campbell's mention that his brother, Meryl's father, had been killed in the Persian Gulf. His battle experience had taught him that there was no such thing as a one-size-fits-all method to motivating soldiers to stay in the fight. Some needed to have a swift boot up their backside, while others merely needed the acknowledgment that they failed, and their psyches would do the rest of the work. With Meryl, however, a softer approach was needed.

"You wanted to follow in your father's footsteps?" Snake asked.

She shook her head. "Not really. I thought if I became a soldier, I could understand him better."

"So, are you a soldier yet?"

Meryl looked at Snake through the reflection, her eyes bloodshot as tears trickled down her cheeks. "I thought I was until today…but now, I understand. The truth is, I was just afraid of looking at myself, afraid of having to make my own decisions in my life." She inhaled deeply. "But I'm not going to lie to myself anymore. It's time I took a hard, long look at myself. I want to know _who_ I am, _what_ I'm capable of…I want to know why I've lived the way I've lived until now." Her head drooped again. "I want to know…"

Snake drew his SOCOM, dropped the magazine to inspect how many rounds were left, slammed it back home, and press-checked for a hot chamber. He dropped his gun hand to his side. "Take a good look," he said, an edge to his voice. "You won't get another chance for a while. You should wash your face too, while you're at it."

"Yeah…"

"This isn't a training exercise," Snake growled. "Our _lives_ are riding on this. There are no heroes or heroines. If you lose, you're worm food."

Meryl nodded. "Yeah," she said numbly. She turned on the faucet, collected a pool with her hands, and splashed it on her face. The water rinsed the tear streaks away, though the blood lingered in her eyes for a few more moments. They would clear up by the time they moved onto their next objective. Snake shifted conversation to the rifle that rest against the stall barrier.

"Is that FAMAS functional?"

Meryl turned around and nodded. "Unfortunately, it's out of ammo."

Snake nodded to the hand cannon on her hip. "Where'd ya get that Desert Eagle?"

A smile flickered across her lips as she drew the Israeli handgun and held it in front of her chest. "I found it in the armory. It's a .50cal Action Express. There was a SOCOM pistol, too, but I chose this."

"Huh." Snake eyed his handgun. "So, I've got a leftover, huh?" His eyes shifted to the Desert Eagle. "Isn't that gun a little big for a girl?"

Meryl rolled her eyes. _Men._ "Don't worry. I can handle it."

Snake held out his SOCOM on his open palm. "C'mon. Use my .45."

She scoffed tiredly and stared Snake in the eyes. "_Listen,_ I've used a gun like this since I was eight years old. I'm more comfortable with it than I am with a bra." To demonstrate, she dropped the empty magazine that she had not yet swapped out from her last firefight, reached into her cleavage for a full replacement, slammed it home, and racked the slide. Snake grumbled something incoherent and slowly holstered his own pistol. Meryl smiled, holstered the Desert Eagle, and placed her hands on her hips.

"If we're gonna go to the north, we'll have to go through the Commander's Room on this floor," Meryl said. "The overland route is blocked by glaciers." She reached into her shirt once more—eliciting a look from Snake—and produced a PAN card. "The door to the Commander's Room is security level five. This card will open it. It was inside the pocket of the uniform I was wearing."

Snake held the card in front of his face for inspection, then pocketed it. "Looks like he must have been guarding someplace important."

Meryl nodded, then drew her Desert Eagle, which prompted Snake to arm himself. "Okay, let's go. I know this place better than you. I'll be point man. Follow me."

She took off running before Snake could respond. He turned on a heel and followed her out the door as quickly as he could. When he reached the hallway, Meryl was looking left to right, her expression confused.

"That's strange…there's no guard."

Snake also sensed something was off. It took him a moment to put his finger on it. "What happened to the music?"

Meryl gave him a skeptical look, as if she had no idea what he was talking about. Instead of focusing on that, she said, "I'll keep a lookout. Make sure you're ready, okay?"

"Right."

They parted ways. Meryl took up an overwatch position that afforded her clean shots at both the door that led to the Commander's Room and the elevator. Snake went for the offices, which he could see were completely empty on the Soliton Radar. Regardless, he kept his hand on his weapon as he entered the bullpen. He collected ammunition for his SOCOM and a few stun grenades, which were the only useful things in the room. Snake no longer had a FAMAS, and he had ditched the Nikita after destroying the generator due to its bulk, but there was still plenty of ammunition for both weapons.

_That's life,_ Snake thought. He paused before he left the room, took a knee, and dialed Colonel Campbell's frequency on his Codec.

"What is it, Snake?"

"Colonel, your niece is fine."

Snake watched Campbell breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness!"

"We can't relax," Snake reminded his CO. "Not yet."

The elation evaporated as quickly as it had spawned. "I know. Snake…"

"She's quite a woman," he confessed.

Campbell took a deep breath. "As commander of this operation, I can't ask you to watch after Meryl, but…"

Snake nodded knowingly. "Duty first?"

"Maybe I was wrong." Campbell hung his head. "Sending my own flesh and blood to war."

"She understands duty," Snake insisted.

"I know she does…"

Snake switched tack. "But, what I want to know is, what was the real purpose of this exercise?"

"I don't know," Campbell said, with little conviction. "Like I said, I'm nothing more than a middleman."

It took a moment for realization to hit Snake. "Is this transmission being monitored by the military?"

Campbell nodded. "Of course."

"I get it. All the world's a stage and we're merely players, right?"

"Yes, but even players can influence the play."

"I just hope we can prevent it from having a bad ending."

Snake killed the transmission and moved to the door. Meryl flashed him a thumbs up, and he replied with a curt nod. With her pistol at the ready, she led the way down the hallway, and stood by the door. Snake caught up a moment later, and the door oiled open. She gestured for him to take point, and he led the way past the threshold.

Sixteen hours and eighteen minutes until doomsday.


End file.
